


Blackguard

by Tinyshot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracy, F/M, Kidnapping, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7280812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinyshot/pseuds/Tinyshot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julie Oxton was never one for adventures. Her younger sister Lena was all about new frontiers and traveling the world, but Julie just wanted a peaceful, quiet life.</p><p>Lena paid dearly for her wanderlust. Julie watched as her sister had turned into a ghost, an apparition, a shadow of herself. Stranded in time, lost in the current. Yet she made it out, and somehow still retained her cheery attitude.</p><p>Julie wished she could do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Blackguard - a fallen Paladin.

Julie Oxton was never one for adventures. Her younger sister Lena was all about new frontiers and traveling the world, but Julie just wanted a peaceful, quiet life.

Lena paid dearly for her wanderlust. Julie watched as her sister turned into a ghost, an apparition, a shadow of herself. Stranded in time, lost in the current. Yet she made it out, and somehow still retained her cheery attitude.

Julie wished she could do the same. After the collapse of the Overwatch, the world was in chaos. Former agents and their families were hunted down like animals. Julie didn't have abilities or strength or mysterious superpowers to protect herself, unlike Lena. And while Lena did her best, even she could not be at two places at the same time, and in truth she needed to be in a hundred.

Sometimes people fall through the cracks.

Like George did.

Her brave husband died shielding Julie from a bullet of a sniper. Truly, that foul woman deserved her name.

 _Widowmaker_.

That was the first time in over ten years Julie saw her little sister cry. Lena blamed herself. She said that it was her fault. She said that she failed her.

Julie agreed.

She never wanted this, any of it. But she was guilty by association, and in Talon’s eyes, they were all prey.

Julie told her sister that she wanted nothing to do with her anymore and walked away. Lena tried to stop her, and she tried hard, blinking into existence in front of her every few steps Julie took, pleading, begging. Grasping her hand just like she did when they got lost in a big city, long years ago.

They weren’t kids anymore.

When Julie woke up in a cheap hotel in the morning, there was a pair of pistols on her nightstand that wasn't there before. No note required for her to know who left them. Lena didn't show her face to her anymore, but Julie knew that she was nearby. Always watching over her.

She didn't want it. If the Talon would come for her again, she would accept her fate. The Overwatch was dead, and so was the hope.

Julie grasped the handle of a pulse pistol when she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. She may accept her fate, but she will not be slaughtered… or at least would try not to. The man coming after her was a trained killer, he was the death itself.

Julie closed her eyes and thought of George. His smile, bright like a summer day. His touch, warm and loving, his scent. He smelled of sunshine and earth.

He was beckoning to her from across the veil. _Just one more minute, love._ It would be over quickly if he was merciful. She was no fighter. She was no Lena, and it was her they wanted to hurt and torture. Julie was just a side target.

_Prey._

“Death comes,” Julie heard a reverberating voice, half hiss, half sneer. The door clattered against the frame, wood crackling under the powerful kick. It would not hold much longer, and in the morning the hotel staff would find her…

Julie was moving around for almost two months now, on her own. Running, not even knowing why she did it. Perhaps it was instinct. Never staying in one place for longer than a week. They found her still, in the warm and sunny Spain, by Gibraltar.

The door groaned and crackled and flew inwards in a cloud of splinters.

End of the line.

He walked inside, cloaked in shadows. Laughing at the pistol in her hand. Julie pulled the trigger, but her killer just melded into shadows, and the bullets hit the wall behind him. Through him.

The terror that was cowering in the corner of her soul before that had leapt up and taken over. She wanted to scream, watching as he slowly pulled a shotgun out from under his black cloak. But it seemed like all the air was sucked out of her lungs.

A bright flash of light blinded her, accompanied by a loud bang and a shockwave that dropped her to the floor. Was it over? Did she die? Julie blinked, seeing black spots all over her field of vision.

“She's not the one you're after. It's me.”

A man was standing in the doorway. Tall and lean, dressed in a blue leather jacket. His face covered by a mask, sinister red glow emanating from the visor; his hair white like winter snow.

She barely had time to register it all before he fired his weapon, and this time, her executioner had to roll away, his shotgun answering with a deafening clap. Julie pressed herself to the floor, trying to become as small as humanly possible. She and Lena had shared the similar build, but it didn't seem enough. She wanted to be invisible. She wanted to disappear.

The man in the jacket darted behind the wall and the killer followed him.

Julie didn't know what happened, but there was an echoing wail of pain. Shadow with glowing eyes slithered across the floor of her room, locking gaze with her briefly. She shuddered. There was nothing but hate in those red embers, and it was murderous in its intent.

The shadow flew up and away through the partially opened window. Julie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She would not die today. Soon, perhaps, with Talon still on her heels, but not today. George would have to wait a little longer for her to join him.

Footsteps approached. Those were lighter, faster than the ones she heard before. The very steps of the man sent to kill her seemed to thump with finality. This other man was different. Julie looked at his heavy combat boots, streaked with dust, still stunned by the explosion.

She looked a bit higher, up the military pants. George was a proud soldier. He used to wear a uniform too…

And then her eyes had found a hand in a bright red glove, extended towards her with an open palm.

“You alright in there, kiddo?”

His voice was low and grizzly, tinged with smoke. She nodded, reaching for the stranger's hand. Her depth perception was off after her brain was shaken a bit by the explosion, and her savior had to take her hand himself after she tried and failed to reach him.

He pulled her up to her feet. She couldn't see his face behind the strange mask. There was no telling what he was thinking.

His hand came up and Julie flinched. He didn't seem to be bothered by it, and his heavy palm came to rest on top of her head, bowing it with its weight a little bit.

He was so close that she could smell him, and he smelled like leather, steel and ozone.

“You take care of yourself, kiddo. I might not be there next time.”

 _Next time_. Cold surged through her at his words. He knew there would be next time they try to kill her. She knew there would be next time too.

The man ruffled her brown hair with something resembling affection. His hand slid off her head, his glove catching the long tresses in its texture.

“Let your sister help… you look a lot like her.”

“You know nothing about what happened,” Julie said stubbornly.

“I do not,” agreed the man quietly.

They stood in silence for a bit, with Julie studying his jacket and his mask. It was a bit disturbing not to see his face. Not seeing where he was looking, not being able to read his expression.

He turned on his heel suddenly, and moonlight fell on the number ‘76’ on the back of his jacket. Julie knew he will walk away now without a second glance and it was unlikely that she would survive long enough to see him ever again.

“Thank you. For saving my life.” However short the reprieve might be.

“It was not intentional,” he answered, gruff, but Julie knew it wasn't true. It would have been easier for him to open fire in the room, or throw explosives closer. Kill her in the process, but get his target too.

He _cared_. Even if he was desperately pretending not to. Perhaps even fooling himself, believing in his own lie.

The man was almost out the door.

“What is your name?” She blurted out before it was too late. Somehow it seemed important.

He paused, his silhouette outlined by darkness but not consumed by it.

“I'm just a soldier now.”

He didn't look back at her when he disappeared into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! :)


	2. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's just a soldier now. But the shadow of his old self refuses to surrender.

He leaves, feeling her eyes on his back. Emptiness gnaws at his insides, disappointment and regret in equal measure. He should have opened fire when Reaper was distracted. He should have shot the Helix rockets closer.

He is still unable to step over the code he had etched into himself years ago. This code… it made him weak. This code is the reason the work of his life is destroyed. People didn’t need Overwatch anymore, or so they claim. What he sees every day proves them otherwise.

Death. Destruction. People and Omnics slaughtered every day all across the globe. He is unable to stop them now, not without the universal backing that Overwatch provided. But he is sure to die trying.

He failed before, but he refuses to do it again. Not again. His scars itch, his senses tingle. Ever since that fateful day when the explosion in Swiss headquarters had erased Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes from the face of the earth, he can feel him when he is close.

It is this feeling he follows, it is this feeling that guided him into that cheap hotel that smells of dust and mold.

It is this feeling that almost made him kill the innocent. But he refuses to accept that fate. He is still better than him. He will not become what the other had. _Reaper._

And still… it pains him to know that everything could have been over in that one moment. And now Reaper is away, likely tracking down another person that was affiliated with Overwatch in some way. Is one life really more important than hundreds he could have saved by taking the shot?

The old him would have said that yes. Absolutely yes. But he is doubting now. It’s for the greater good. Greater good…

He hears feather-light footsteps up above. The person leaps from roof to roof, enveloped in a faint blue glow. His eye can barely follow. Hop, skip, and she is gone, and only a disturbed roof tile clatters and it slides down.

The Tracer kid. Still alive. Good.

He walks through narrow streets, not stopping again. Tracer will make sure that her sister - he is more than certain the girl was her sister - will get away safely. His work here is done.

And yet something feels wrong. The further he goes away, the weaker the feeling gets. His quarry is moving in the other direction. Circling back. Next time, he said to the Oxton girl, he might not be there. This next time is coming around closer than he was expecting.

He is hesitant. Tracer will be able to stop Reaper, if only temporarily. He is not needed there. It’s high time he had some shut-eye, not that his dreams are ever anything but fire and death anymore. It’s high time he visited old Watchpoint to get some munitions and supplies.

The media outlets call it robbery. Raiding. It is not. Those supplies were there in the first place only because of him and all the blood, sweat and tears he had shed for the Overwatch.

No, they have no right to call it stealing.

As if to mock him, he hears an explosion, and he didn't cause this one. Which usually means bad news. Back where he came from. He closes his weary eyes. Even with extensive enhancements, he needs some sleep from time to time. He is so tired, so deadly tired. Tired of fighting, tired of even existing. He does not know why does he trudge along, yet something pushes him forward each time he is about to give up.

His senses pitch, high and demanding. It is a nasty itch in his brain that he can’t scratch. _He_ is there.

He needs to go now or lose him again.

Opening his eyes, he sees the world, colored red through night vision visor. He turns around and sprints back through the crooked streets, taking his rifle out.

It’s not the time to give up just yet. Sleep can wait.

 

He is racing through the streets, past a drunken man, past a busy intersection. A whistle comes from the side, but he doesn’t stop, hopping onto a moving car without a second glance. Combat boots leave a dent in the hood, and he jumps, pushing off.

Inhuman strength. Faster reflexes. High endurance. A regular person will never be able to catch up to him as he weaves his way through the crowd and dives into an alleyway, away from prying eyes.

“Bombs away!” he hears a cheery voice above, followed by a giggle. A small explosion hit him with a shockwave, and he feels his target, rounding the corner.

There he is, shrouded in unnatural darkness, unharmed. Whatever happened to him after they both died, whatever he become, it is very hard to kill. And not for the lack of trying.

They were always stubborn, too stubborn for their own good. Too stubborn to surrender, too stubborn to die. This unnatural connection between them bothers him. Like it’s destiny. But he doesn’t believe in fate anymore.

He just needs to finish him and be done with it.

He fires Helix rockets, and a blinding blue flash of explosion lights the alley, bright like daylight. It’s short-lived, however, and darkness closes. _A lot_ of darkness.

“DIE, DIE, DIE!”

The man he once called his friend pivots on the spot, shotguns firing all over the place. 

“Oh no!”

Tracer darts past him to take cover behind a wall without ever noticing him, or if she does notice him she doesn’t do anything about it.

Sloppy. If he was the enemy, she would be dead now. That’s not what he taught her...

All the noise and explosions attract attention. He can hear sirens at the edge of his hearing. All of them are now targets of an international hunt. Best not be here when law enforcement arrives. Best for the policemen, that is.

His gun makes a steady crackling sound when bullets are fired.

“Whoever you are! We can take him now if we work together!” He hears Tracer call out. He grunts, an empty clip flying out of the gun. Before it hits the floor, he jams in a new one.

“He’s mine.”

“Hey!”

Reaper fires back, and he has to duck to avoid the shotgun blast to the chest. Tracer barely makes it out before a gun in Reaper’s other hand fires into an intercept trajectory. He knew that she would blink.

The shot rips through her clothing, bright red blood splattering the walls. She cries out in pain, stumbling, falling. Her left side is torn to shreds by the blast.

Blue glow envelops her body and suddenly she rewinds back like an old time tape. He can see her wounds closing, bits of metal flying out of her flesh, her clothing mending itself back together, blood returning into her body. It’s a bizarre sight, but a one he is familiar with.

And so is the Reaper. He is waiting for her to come back to the spot she was in seconds ago, and he is ready to finish the job this time.

Before his opponent gets the chance, he rushes in, charging him. The pale mask cracks under the stock of his gun with a crunch, and a powerful kick takes Reaper by surprise. He stumbles backward, raising his gun, but the visor activates now, target locked.

And Tracer edges around, cutting off his retreat. He fires.

Through the wail of pain, he almost not hears a high-pitched female scream. But he does, and so does Tracer.

“Oh no! Julie!”

She rushes away, completely abandoning the task at hand, and it’s enough for Reaper to turn into a shadow again and fly away through the open path, his laughter mocking.

“Damn it! What the hell are you doing?! We had him!”

He runs out of the alley just in time to trace the gunshots upwards, where a tall dark woman holds the girl he had saved from Reaper earlier, her body is limp in Widowmaker’s arms. Tracer blinks up, skipping over the walls and rooftops, but there is crackling of a helicopter in the air, and it’s close.

Widowmaker fires her grappling hook, latching onto a helicopter chassis. She pulls herself and her prey upwards into the sky and within a blink of an eye, they are gone.

“No!”

Even Tracer can’t fly.

He grunts in annoyance. The night just can’t get any worse now. Two attacks, two failures. One theirs, one his.

“No, no, _no_!” Tracer jumps down beside him and shakes him by the shoulders, “Why?! Why would they do this?!”

“Hell if I know,” he removes her hands and turns away. Reaper can’t bee too far. There is still time for him to follow.

“Please! We need to rescue Julie!”

“I am not a hero, not anymore. Go bother someone else, kid.”

“I know who you are, Soldier 76.”

That stops him dead in his tracks. _Perhaps they finally figured it out_.

“You’re a vigilante who wants to bring down Talon. We have a common goal here! Whatever they had to take Julie for, it can’t be good!”

_No, they did not._

“Last time they had taken an Overwatch agent’s family member, they turned her into Widowmaker. I’d hurry if I were you,” he says, stepping back into the shadowy alley. The sirens are very close now.

“Stop! Wait! Please!” She skips right through him, a blue firefly. “I slipped a beacon on her! They can lead us directly into their base if we are quick enough!”

He looks at her quizzically, not that she can see his expression behind the mask.

“Did you use her as a bait?”

“What? No! I did it so it will be easier for me to follow her around to protect her!”

“I was the one who stopped Reaper earlier tonight. Your protection skills seemed to be lacking.”

“And you said you weren’t a hero,” grinned Tracer.

He will need a lot more patience than he currently possesses to tolerate her long enough to complete the mission. To walk away will be a better decision. Walk away, get to Watchpoint, get some rest, resume his hunt.

But a Talon base…

He refuses to acknowledge a familiar feeling, stirring in his chest. Useless feeling. The one that has no more place on the lonely warpath he is walking now.

Yet a one he can’t seem to be able to completely stamp out.

 _Hope_. Hope to save an innocent. Hope to make things right.

There is no more hope in this world. The people had forgotten what is right and what is wrong. He was the compass… but he is broken now, too. Yet his former self doesn't seem to understand.

He grunts to Tracer, his head jerking up and down in a sharp nod.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting with present tense in Soldier's chapters. I think it worked out pretty well.


	3. Sparks

There was not much to remember about that night. Or was it a day? Julie couldn’t recall. It was all a blur of faces and lights and sinister voices that she couldn’t even call a memory.

And pain. A lot of pain. A cold metal helmet strapped to her head. Electrodes touching her temples, slick with some kind of gel. A haze of places that she had seen and yet had not. Of knowledge, that was not her own.

How to kill a man with one bullet. How to stop a heart from beating. How to skirt around in shadows, how to know the moment to strike.

Implanted. Not earned.

It seemed endless. There was no way for her to tell how much time had passed.

It was limbo. Purgatory, the road to hell.

She tried to recall the latest moment she could before the rifle struck her on the forehead. Cold, a cruel smile of a beautiful woman that came out of nowhere. Materialized out of shadows, but not like the other man. There was no mysticism to it. It was subterfuge. Grace. Deadly intent.

When she opened her eyes after that, strikingly powerful lights shone in her eyes, and she was strapped to a table. Voices were raised after she started struggling. Injections came, and blissful darkness embraced her.

There were no windows in that room. No clocks. Nothing to tell her how much time had passed. It could have been hours. Could have been days.

Could have been weeks.

When Julie came back to it, she felt different. Like there was… something else in her mind. Something that was not hers.

Someone who was not her. Mirrors on the walls showed that she was all alone in the room, but she was not.

She clawed at her arms to distract herself, rocking gently in place. As the hours passed, the whisper in her mind turned into a scream, and she screamed with it. After a while, people in white robes came. And darkness claimed her once more.

The cycle continued for a bit. Light. Leather straps, injections. Darkness. Solitary room. Whisper in the back of her mind.

She could barely remember her name. Barely remember why she was there, why were the people doing it to her?

Actually, she didn’t know back then. Couldn’t. All she knew is it had something to do with Overwatch. Looking into the foggy mirror she saw a girl that looked like her and yet was not her anymore. They cut her hair. They planted tech under her skin. They turned her into someone else.

Someone she didn’t know and yet she did.

But she knew that Lena would never have this hungry look in her eyes. Lena would never thirst for blood and destruction.

Julie looked at her bloodied knuckles, cut on the shattered glass, and a thousand reflections looked back at her from the floor.

It was _her_ fault. Julie never wanted this. She never wanted to be hunted, to be captured, to be… turned. Lena was their target, not her. Lena… Lena did this to her. Lena had to d-

 _No_.

Clasping her head, Julie collapsed, screaming. She heard the hurried steps approaching her and felt a sting of a needle piercing her skin above the elbow.

 

Opening her eyes, she was greeted with a familiar picture. Blinding lights. Straps on her wrists and ankles. The cold metal of the helmet.

But there were no people around her. Turning her head to the side, she saw a bright splatter of blood on the wall. In the sudden quiet of the room, she heard a distant sound of an explosion down the hall.

_swajdfkpkwatchpointudfdogibraltargirdfsperadfnals_

Julie shook her head as if that could get the gibberish out of her mind. Useless. The whisper became almost familiar now. She could tune it out… almost.

Tugging at restraints, she could almost get her hand out. She might need to dislocate the joint to get free, she realized with sudden clarity, and the thought frightened her. How would she know that?

In her struggle with the straps, she almost didn’t notice the approaching steps. She stilled, afraid to breathe. Are they going to hurt her for trying to get out? They did before. Maybe they wouldn’t notice, maybe…

The light was shut off, and Julie had to blink the blazing spot off her eyes that the lamp left. But when she did, there was a man standing over her. Not one of the torturers. No, she knew him… from _before_ this all started. Before the night she was captured. Before… _Talon_. What was his name?.. She knew his name. Or did she?... the memory was not her own.

He looked down at her, red visor ominous in the darkness.

_fsjackdmlkjackgpeogkdnfjackoerkgpjackgdqwoejackfs_

She knew he was looking at her face, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. She could feel his gaze. It was burning her skin. He was deciding whether or not she should live, she realized in that moment. Her life on the scales, in his hands.

“Please,” whispered Julie, her throat scratchy and tight, “help me…”

He peered into her eyes for another second. His hand came up and Julie flinched, afraid that he would hurt her. But he did not. His gloved hand unbuckled the straps and tore off the cursed helmet, while the other hand was pointing a rifle at her.

“No sudden movement,” he rasped, stepping back. Sudden movement?

_kill him_

Julie’s eyes widened. Never before did the whisper turn into a command. Kill him? But why? He saved her. Twice, and he came for her… why?

Why was she not even considering how _wrong_ the murder was? Where was it all coming from? Julie groaned, grasping her head. The voice turned down into familiar gibberish. Nothing recognizable.

“You alright, kiddo?” His tone softened just a tiny bit.

She looked up at him, sliding down from the table.

“You asked me that before. I’m not. But I’ll… I’ll manage.”

He nodded and motioned for her to move forward. Not helping her walk, not showing her his back. As if he knew what the whisper told her. As if he expected that.

“Julie!”

A blue firefly zipped past the man and right next to her.

_kill her_

Her arm acted as if it had a mind of its own. A sharp slap echoed across the empty hall, and Lena flew backward on the floor, stunned, astonished and horrified at the same time. There was hurt in her sister’s large amber eyes as Lena clutched her reddening cheek, staring at Julie, who in turn stared at her own hand.

“I… Lena! I’m sorry! I…”

Lena scrambled up on her feet and blinked rapidly, chasing away obvious tears.

“There are reinforcements coming,” she blurted out, her voice shaky, “but there are no signs of Reaper or Widowmaker. I’ll distract them. Get Julie out of here.”

Before the soldier could reply, Lena was teleporting away, and within a second she rounded the corner and was gone.

The man grunted to himself and shook his head.

“Fine. Let’s go. Time to get out.”

_fjslondonnfsjdfnlondonadjfandfjslondonsfjwoifjwelondondfjs_

 

Fresh air filled her lungs and for a second Julie felt faint. She swiveled on her feet, and tried to grab onto a wall for support, but missed.

A strong hand grasped her by the shoulder, steadying her. But he stepped back as soon as she was not in danger of falling. Suspicion was obvious in every step the man took, every glance he threw, every movement of his body. He didn’t trust her.

She didn’t even trust herself.

“Where are we?” she asked. The air was moist and smelled of salt. They must be somewhere by the sea.

“Palermo, Italy. We followed a tracking beacon your sister placed on you. Took us a day to get here, a few more to figure out how to get in.”

“How long was I there?”

“Four days, eighteen hours.”

“Only four days?” she whispered, shaking her head. It felt like an eternity. The man nodded. He wasn’t much of a talker, it seemed.

Julie still couldn’t shake off the weird feeling that she knew him way better than she should have. His name, what was his name? It was… important somehow.

“There is an abandoned warehouse nearby we used as a temporary base of operations. I’m sure Tracer will come there after she dealt with the reinforcements. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” she shivered in the evening breeze, “there are still people out in the streets. I’m…”

She was still dressed in something resembling a hospital gown. And splattered with blood. Was it hers? Some of the incisions were fresh, some still healing, others looked like they were there for a month. And some already turned into faint scars.

He looked confused for a second, before looking faintly embarrassed. Still not letting her out of his sight even for a brief moment, he put the rifle against the wall, before quickly unzipping and shedding his leather jacket. He picked the weapon up first, before handing the garment to her.

It was warm from the heat of his body when she put the jacket on her shoulders, so large on her she must have looked like a child in it. Biting her lip, she looked down, not willing to look him in the face.

Her eyes landed on a military issue black body armor, fitting tight like a glove over his athletic body. But there was one piece of it that was standing out. An insignia and it was silvery, a circle, an O, and a W fused together. _O and W for Overwatch_. Her eyes narrowed. He was one of them! That's what he meant by 'wasn't a hero anymore'! And suddenly she felt faint again.

 _Jack. His name is Jack_. But why was it so important?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay! But here it is. I had a hard time writing anything at all, but I'm working on breaking this block.


	4. Glow

She is a shivering, scared little thing. Nothing like her sister. But if he had to guess, the Talon bastards wanted to create another brainwashed puppet, like the unfortunate Amélie Lacroix. This one, probably, would have been sent to eliminate Tracer and then take her place.

Tracer was well known before the Overwatch collapsed. A young legend, a rising star. A shame her career was cut so short. To have her lookalike sister sowing chaos and terror would have been a great plan.

But they never expected Tracer to have back up. They never expected him.

He and the girl, Julie, avoid bustling plazas and stick to small curving streets of the seaside city. Her small bare feet carefully step around the holes in the uneven paving stones, worn by time and weather. His jacket hangs on her down to mid-thigh, and the gown is almost disappeared under it. He follows behind her, and from where he stands it seems like she is wearing nothing underneath. She is a bit taller than her sister, her legs are long and slim.

His gaze slides down and he notices a trace of an incision on her outer left thigh. Half-healed, still a bit swollen, and it makes his eyes narrow. That’s a common place for implanting in a transmitter.

Their position will be compromised the moment they walk into the warehouse. She may not even know about it all. He will need to inspect her, remove the tracer beacon and then move, fast.

Pushing the door open, he lets her in. Still not showing her his back. Maybe they did interrupt the procedure. Maybe that’s what they want them to think. Either way, caution is the key. Who knows - not him for sure - what the adverse effects of the incomplete reprogramming might be. She could be the ticking time bomb.

No sleep tonight either, then.

Closing his eyes for a second, he reaches up with his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, only for his fingers to hit the hard surface of the mask. Old habits die hard. He settles for rubbing his forehead, even with the gloves on feeling the uneven ridge of the deep scar.

The girl didn’t move, standing still in the middle of the room. He shoves an old metal chair towards her with his leg. It makes a screeching noise against the floor.

“Strip.”

“What?” She is confused, and her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. He pointed to her leg. To the healing cut that she probably was feeling.

“There is tech planted inside of you. Probably transmitting our location. Need to take it out. I need to see if there are any more that can cause trouble.”

She looks down, her hands shake when she takes off his jacket and hangs it on the chair slowly, drawing out time. He doesn’t have time, they don’t have time.

His foot taps the concrete floor impatiently, the dull sound rolling against the metal walls and empty rooms. The girl throws a glance in his direction. Amber eyes burning with shame, fear, anxiety. Begging him to turn away. He jerks his head up a bit and crosses his arms across his chest. He is not going anywhere, and neither does she.

She takes in a ragged breath before grabbing her gown by the hem and tugging it up over her head in one swift motion. Like a band-aid, he chuckles to himself.

She covers herself with her hands, shivering lightly. Not from the cold air, Palermo is a sunny Sicilian town. She is quivering from being here with him, a practically stranger, alone, helpless, naked. A part of him wants to soothe her. Make it go away.

The part of him that is weak. It almost got him killed, more times than he can count… and he can count a lot. Each time he pulled through until there was a time when he didn’t.

_And you gave up._

He tries to pinch the bridge of his nose again, with the same result.

Setting between the two halves of himself, he tugs the gloves off his hands. Scars, old and new, line the skin. He flexes his fingers, his sense of touch keen after being covered and muffled for a long time.

“Hands.”

She throws another burning glance at him, this time, it’s blazing hatred. She doesn’t move. He shakes his head before approaching her, just two long strides and he is right beside her. He takes her arms in his hands and pulls them off, inspecting her. Both of her tiny wrists can fit in one of his palms. There is no point in resisting, but that doesn’t stop her from trying.

One, two, three incisions. His fingers ghost over the cuts, and her skin responds with goose flesh.

Two on her arms, above elbows on each, one in her abdomen. Without letting go of her hands, he spun her around. Two more on her back. One on the back of the neck. One on the thigh, and on the both calfs.

They worked fast. The ones on the back look like scars, almost entirely healed. Caduceus nanotechnology, it must be.

Huh. He _does_ know someone who can help with this case after all. But it can’t come from him.

Her skin is cool under his fingers, warmer over the slight swelling over the cuts. He hasn't really been this close to a naked woman for a long time. Not since...

“Sit,” he says sharply, forcing the memories away.

He lets go of her hands, and she immediately puts them back over herself. He walks up to a supply crate, fishing out a medical kit and a coil of climbing rope.

“Why do you need _that_?” She is looking at the rope, and she is mortified, he can tell by expression alone.

“Can’t let you keep your hands free while I get that transmitter out of you.”

“You’re going to…” she is hyperventilating, her small chest falling and rising rapidly, her hands fell down to her lap and she tries and fails to calm herself.

“It’s just a rope.”

“No! You’re going to… to…”

So that’s the scalpel she is afraid of. Rightfully so, there are major arteries running through the thigh. But he had an extensive medical training, and used it a lot, though these days mostly to stitch himself up.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says before he can stop himself. Damn it.

Her breathing slows down, somewhat. He chances coming closer. Taking her hand in his, he wrapped the rope around the narrow wrist. Tight enough so it would be hard to slip out, but not painful. Then the other one.

Tying her hands together, he lets go, and she puts her hands back on her lap. Only then does he sink down on his knees beside her.

Two shots of anesthetic above the half-healed incision. A quick disinfecting wipe over it. Gloves go on his hands with a rubbery creaking.

“I lied,” he says quietly, “this is going to hurt. But I need you to be still.”

The cut is quick and clean, the previous incision guiding him. The girl bites her lip, shaking, a cry of pain escaping her, followed by a cascade of sobs.

It isn’t buried deep. Widening the gap a bit, he can grab onto the edge of the transmitter with forceps after a couple of tries. A few careful tugs, a muffled wail, and it clatters on the concrete floor. He steps on it with force, and it makes a satisfying crunch under his boot.

Blood seeps out of the cut, and he compresses it before starting to stitch. She is only occasionally shuddering now.

After he is done, he gives her the last shot of painkiller and dresses the wound in clean bandages. No Caduceus tech here, it will have to take some time. At least it wasn’t as deep as he worried it might be.

“What did they do to me? The rest?” her voice is weak, there are wet traces on her face and her lip is bleeding. He feels a sudden twinge of guilt. She doesn’t deserve this.

But then, the world is not about what everyone deserves. He knows that better than anyone.

“Don’t know for sure. But probably added shock absorbers to your calf bones, standard procedure for any combatant these days. Could have replaced the entire thing, but didn’t. Some sort of control chip in the neck, probably. No signs of entry in your skull… could have been worse.”

He puts away the medkit and takes off the gloves. He reaches down to her and wipes a small streak of blood off her face with his thumb. She doesn’t shy away from him this time. Must be the meds kicking in. He unties the rope and coils it back carefully.

“You can dress now. Rest for a bit, we need to be moving soon.”

“My sister…”

“Can find us just fine. She’s capable.”

She puts the gown back on and wraps herself tight into his jacket. He doesn’t mind. He points at the makeshift cot she can sleep on, this time allowing her to lean on him. With the meds in her system even if she does get a command she won’t be able to kill or injure him.

She stumbles after a single step and he ends up just gathering her in his arms and carrying her all the way. She is light like a small child. When he lays her down he notices a small red dot that seeped through the layers of gauze already. A biotic emitter goes down next to her to help with the healing.

He turns away from her but feels her hand grasping his. He tenses, but her grip is weak, barely noticeable at all. He looks down over his shoulder at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her amber eyes wide and a bit unfocused.

So young and fragile. Probably young enough to be his daughter... And not probably, she _is_. He knows it, Tracer told him way too much. He tuned out most of it, but his memory is clingy.

This girl is as old as Fareeha Amari would be now, and she could have been… could have been… He is getting too old, he grudgingly admits to himself. Useless what ifs are plaguing his mind. Ana made her choice. He lived with it for decades. Now is not the time to stir up the dust.

Amber eyes hold him in place. Ana used to have eyes like that, too… He wants to say that it’s okay. Wants to say that it was no problem, no big deal. That she should sleep and get better. This time he gets a hold of himself before the words escape his mouth. He only nods, barely. He wants to look away, to break eye contact. It's harder to do than he had expected.

“Thank you…” she repeats, quieter, her eyes fluttering close, releasing him from the hold. He turns away. “ _Jack_...”

His head snaps back to her so fast it makes his spine crackle. _What? How?_

She is out already, enveloped in soft golden glow of the biotic field. He fights back the urge to shake her awake and stalks away from her. She knows his name. Was it a fluke? Was she imagining someone she knew from before and it was all a coincidence?

He doesn’t believe in coincidences. She knows his name. Does she know who he is? Did the Talon put that knowledge into her? Does she even realize who he used to be?

He glances back at her, breathing softly in her chemical-induced sleep. She nuzzles into his jacket, pulling it even tighter around herself.

His skin still feels warm where she touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't get this chapter to make sense for a few days, but the announcement of Ana Amari coming to Overwatch (and that Origins trailer was awesome, I mean... those young Morrison, Reyes and McCree *fans self* whew) reminded me of an old idea. Also, if you note, Gabriel Reyes appears _before_ Jack Morrison does *whistles*
> 
> But I digress. I hope you enjoy the chapter. First signs of the feels! Let me know what you think :3


	5. Scorch

She slept too much during that week, but it wasn’t true sleep. It was always caused by medications and it barely brought her any rest.

So it was incredibly hard to open her eyes. It seemed like she barely closed them, but there was no more light coming from underneath the door. The soldier was standing over her, shaking her by the shoulder, his massive frame looming over her menacingly.

But this time, she wasn’t afraid. The tenderness with which he handled her earlier made her change her mind. She still was a bit uncomfortable with the fact that he had seen her naked but… he didn’t do anything to her. Not when she was at his mercy, not when she was tied up, not when she was out cold. He was a good man, even if he didn’t want to be one anymore.

Whisper in the back of her mind seemed more distant after this short rest, but it was still there. Constant noise on the fringes of her consciousness.

“Get up,” he said, his voice low and harsh, “time to move.”

Her leg still hurt, but there was a fresh bandage over it, and it was clean. The soldier turned off the biotic emitter - she only saw those in the holovids before - and tucked it into his belt.

She swung her legs down and stood up, a bit woozy from the sleep, from exhaustion and from the meds.

A blue glow emanated from the corner of the room. Julie didn’t need to look to know who that it. Shame burned her insides. She hit her little sister. Even if it was against her will, Lena didn’t deserve that.

Or maybe she did. She was the one who got her into this mess. She was the one who caused her husband’s death.

The pain of loss came and went like waves. Sometimes she felt like she was almost fine, the other times the loneliness and survivor’s guilt threatened to crush her underfoot. This time, it was neither, it was her pain twisted into anger, and it was disturbing… because it was not hers. Or was it?

Maybe it was there this whole time, and this Talon kidnapping brought it out to the surface.

“Lena…”

Her sister lifted her head. Lena gave her a weak smile. There were small streaks of blood on her face and clothes.

“Julie, are you alright?”

“I guess.” They stared at each other in an awkward silence.

“No time for that,” murmured the soldier, “Tracer brought you something to wear. You two are going to Switzerland.”

Julie looked at him. Even without seeing his eyes, she could tell he was looking at her.

“You’re not coming with us?”

“No.”

She waited for a further answer, but he stayed silent. Finally, after a few seconds, she looked down, feeling strangely disappointed. She came to feel safer with him, and so she wasn’t looking forward to parting ways.

Should she tell him that she knows his name, somehow? Probably not. He would go on to do whatever was that he was doing before meeting her and probably forget the whole thing soon after. She was just another helpless civilian to him.

Quickly dressing in an adjoining room, Julie looked at the leather jacket she was wearing for the past few hours. She should return it. And yet without its protective shell, she felt exposed.

Shaking her head, she picked it up. That was just stupid. Her brain wasn’t, obviously, functioning properly.

Julie handed the jacket back to the soldier and couldn’t suppress an involuntary shudder when she felt their hands touch. He silently put the garment back on and zipped it back up before producing a pair of matching gloves and putting them back on too. He didn’t seem to notice her hesitation.

She felt herself blushing, and looked down again.

“Find Angela Ziegler at Waidspital, Zürich. Tracer knows the way,” he kept looking at her, she could feel it. Or maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed like his gaze had power to it.

She nodded, still not looking up.

Lena teleported right beside her. Julie hated when she did that. Why couldn’t she just walk?

“Time to go, Julie.” There was a blooming bruise on her sister’s right cheekbone, and Julie looked away.

She nodded in response. For the second time she watched the soldier walk out the door, but this time, he stopped and looked back at her, red visor glowing in the summer night. Her stomach made a loop as he stood in the door frame, tall and menacing… but she knew better. There was a bleeding heart beneath that mask.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. He nodded and went forward into the darkness.

 

The air of the starkly white hospital was fresh, cool and smells faintly of antiseptic. Julie felt out of place there, too dirty, too unkempt, too tired. This place was just too perfect.

And so was the woman that Lena called to meet them. Tall and slim, with shimmering platinum hair, perfect skin, and deep blue eyes, she walked as if she floated. Her heels made soft clicks on the polished marble floor.

The woman smiled, and Julie realized that she had seen her before, on the holovids. She was "Mercy", the famous Overwatch medic and first responder.

She was dressed in a perfectly tailored white coat instead of the fancy battle suit and lacking her signature halo and glowing wings, but it was her, there was no doubt in Julie’s mind.

“I’m Dr. Angela Ziegler,” she said with a soft German accent, “and you must be Julie. Tracer told me so much about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

_traitortraitortraitortraitortraitortraitortraitor_

Julie flinched, a sudden jolt of pain rushing through her body. It felt like her body demanded action, demanded… to attack. She pushed the feeling off, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to silence the voice.

When she opened her eyes again, it was obvious that Lena and Dr. Ziegler had noticed that something was wrong.

“I see what you meant, Tracer,” said Dr. Ziegler softly, “zere is little I can do personally, but I will make sure she gets ze best help here. My colleagues are highly trained professionals zat can take care of her condition.”

“You’re not gonna be the one overseeing this?” Lena looked appalled.

Dr. Ziegler shook her head slightly.

“Zere is an urgent situation in the Middle East. Omnium at Baghdad came online, I need to be zere. Ze people need my help… and zey need your help, too, Tracer.”

“I know. And I’m going with you.”

_london_

“Wait, Lena!” Julie gasped, swaying on her feet, “something… something is going to happen in London! Soon, I can… I can feel it. I know it…”

Lena and Dr. Ziegler traded a glance between each other that she couldn’t quite place. Weariness? Caution?

“Zere is something,” slowly said Dr. Ziegler, “tomorrow…”

“Mondatta,” murmured Lena, “he will give a speech in London. Tomorrow.”

“You should go,” Dr. Ziegler put a hand on Tracer’s shoulder, “I will make sure your sister gets ze treatment she needs before departing myself.”

“Thanks, luv,” Lena put her hand on top of Dr. Ziegler’s and smiled brightly, “I wanted to hear him in person anyway!”

Her laughter still ringed in the air as she zipped away, gone in a blink of an eye.

 

“Why the bars on the window?” asked Julie quietly, looking around. Dr. Ziegler smiled apologetically. She was dressed in her legendary Valkyrie suit now, ready to depart.

“I’m sorry, but until we can make sure you are no threat to yourself or anyone else, you will be confined to zis room. We need to assess and heal the damage done to you but we can not risk anyone getting hurt.”

“I’m not-”

“You hear ze commands, no? But more subtle aspects of ze reprogramming will slowly modify your behaviour and responses to make you more compliant over time. You may be able to resist now, but it may not be ze case in a few weeks from now. I’m sorry, but zere is too much risk.”

Julie looked away, clenching her teeth.

“It's going to be alright,” smiled Dr. Ziegler.

And with that, she was gone. The door slid close with a quiet whisper of metal against metal, and the click of the lock was all too loud in the cold, sterile silence.

It was not to last, and at least half a dozen doctors came by, each with an armed guard in tow. Drawing blood, running scans, inspecting the incisions, asking questions to which she had no answers.

They removed the stitches the soldier made, asking who’s work was that. She couldn't answer that too, nor would she want to. Caduceus streams finished healing the cut in mere minutes. Julie ran her fingers over the fresh scar, remembering the careful hands that were there less than a day ago.

That was foolish. He was gone, this time for sure. He had no reason to ever cross paths with her again.

And so she got through the day, with doctors not telling her what the prognosis was. If it even was possible to 'fix’ her, to undo the damage done to her mind and body.

At least she could watch the sunset. Her room was on the second floor, and she watched the sun cast purple and orange light over the pointed rooftops.

_london_

Something was going to happen there. Julie tried to listen to the whisper, but it was hard to discern. Like trying to remember the half-forgotten dream, it didn't make any sense when she tried.

Bits and pieces, fragments of words, shattered pictures. Nothing that could have been of any use. A… a train, speeding through the vast plains. A giant omnic crushing buildings like they are made of sand. A dragon and a knight errant, fighting it.

It didn’t make any sense at all. Julie curled up on a bed, covering herself with a white blanket. She could see an armed guard on duty through the misty glass of her door.


	6. Candlelight

_Jack_ …

He opens his eyes. The world is full of golden daylight. Groaning quietly, he reaches for his mask and flicks the visor on. 1427 hours. He needs to roll just over to the other side and go back to sleep. The road ahead is long, he should have departed days ago, but he got sidetracked.

He should have stayed out of it. There was precious little useful intel in that base. Mostly the things he already knew, which only strengthened his suspicion that Talon had expected someone to break the girl out.

And that, perhaps, she got into his head for a reason.

 _Jack_ …

He growls and punches a wall with the side of his fist. The pain jolts him fully awake, chasing away the vision of the sleeping girl and her soft voice, calling his name.

He needs to find the trail again. Aimlessly wander the world doesn't seem like a good idea. The world is a small place, but not that small. His quarry may have left the Europe altogether by now. He needs to get back to his hunt, to let this weird sixth sense he has developed after the intimately close brush with death to lead him.

Right to _him_.

Cut off the snake's head. Perhaps then it will be over.

But what if the snake is, in fact, just one of the hydra’s heads? Is he just making it worse? He has no answer for that.

 _Jack_.

He shakes his head, frustrated. He can't get rid of her that easily, it seems...He glances down on his jacket. Her scent still lingers on it, after she wore it for a few hours the night before. He watched her in her sleep because he needed to keep an eye on her… and because he wanted to.

He closes his eyes. It's so easy to picture her, wrapped in his jacket. Delicate and fragile, what kind of monster would hurt such a woman?

The vision subtly shifts to the moment when she shed the last piece of clothing from her body. It was supposed to be cold and clinical, he was doing what he had to. It shouldn't have been anything sexual.

And yet it was.

He lied to himself many times, but this is not one of those times. His fingers lingered a bit too long on her skin, even if he doesn't want to admit it. In fact, he didn't even need to touch her. But he did.

He rubs his face before laying back down. He can't move openly until the night falls anyway. It may be days before he can sleep for more than a couple of hours here and there, and certainly not with his mask off. He needs to take the opportunity while he can.

Perhaps it's rude to break into a house that belongs to his old friend and colleague… but he is certain Reinhardt will not come back here any time soon. Last he heard, his old friend is on a crusade of his own, though his is way nobler. Three things in life never change, they joked back in the day. War, love, and Reinhardt. He smiles lightly, rough scar tissue pulling on his lips.

His smile wanes when he feels the tug. The scar runs deep, splitting his lips and up the cheek. A matching one crosses his forehead and dips under the eye, just barely missing it.

Could have been worse, he reminds himself. Could have been worse.

He rolls away from the window and closes his eyes.

 _Jack_.

The last thing he sees before darkness claims him are a pair of amber eyes, and her gaze is warm, like summer sunshine.

 

Does she know who he is? Will she tell anyone? Why would she not? There are plenty of rumors running around. Someone even ran an analysis of his footage. He is ever more careful since then.

If she comes forward, every last bit of Overwatch's good name will get destroyed. Isn't this what Talon wants, isn't this what _he_ wants?

_Do you have to steal EVERYTHING from me, Jack?!_

I never stole her, he said back then. It was a mistake. You lying scum, _he_ answered. He is certain now, this was the moment when everything changed. It was the moment when the last shred of friendship fell apart, it was the moment when Talon was born.

And it is his own doing. His mistake.

He fixes the mask back on. He checks the house. No trace of him left inside. Reinhardt will be none the wiser. He pats an old split helmet sitting on the desk. It's the one Reinhardt wore during the Omnic Crisis. A memento of that troubled time.

To think that children born in the years following it would be in their mid-twenties now...

“Thanks. I will be going now.”

The helmet, of course, has no answer.

 

He finds himself in Switzerland anyway. A good place to start, he tells himself. The very heart of Europe. If he gets to pick up a trail, it will be here. From here the high-speed train lines run all over Europe and to Africa, the Middle East, and even Americas, through the hard light tunnels under the ocean. A good place to catch a ride.

And that is the only reason he is here.

Isn't it?

He glances to the right, where a hospital building glows brightly in the gathering twilight. No, no reason at all…

She didn't come forward. A day had passed since he said goodbye, this time for good… she'd be better off without him. An old broken man that he is, he has no business messing up her life any longer.

Yes, fine. He has a reason to be here that is not his search for Reaper. He can't help it. It's wrong on so many levels, but he can't stop it. He is like a moth that flies into the candlelight. Amber colored eyes haunt him, and so does her voice. He tries to think of something else, someone else, but his mind is going in circles and she is at the heart of it.

Does she know? Will she give him out? Will she not? Why?

This is impossible, he chastises himself. She is too young. He is old enough to be her father. He is too broken, too bitter, too scarred. He will only mess her life up even more than he had already. He sent her to a solitary confinement if he is correct in his prediction. The doctors will be too scared of her turning on them. They'd lock her up. And he did that to her.

To protect her. And yet...

 _Jack_.

It feels wrong.

He is a failure. A coward. A vigilante.

He is all those things. He must leave her be, for her sake. But he can't help but see her in his mind’s eye, alone in an empty room, surrounded by cold white walls and cold indifferent people.

He is a moth flying into the candlelight to be burned. There is no chance she doesn't hate him now.

He turns towards the Waidspital and breaks into a sprint.


	7. Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referencing "Alive" and "Recall" animated shorts.

 “Goot. Very goot, Frau Oxton. Now can you follow ze light without moving your head?”

Julie did as she was told. So far none of the tasks were challenging. She didn't know if this would even help the doctors assess the damage, but she was down for anything, really. Whatever it would take to make it go away.

“Very goot. Your medical history indicates that your reactions had, in fact, improved. Remarkable.”

“I just want to go back to being me,” she answered, her voice sounding tired even to her.

“I understand. Now, close your eyes. Can you feel me touching your face on both sides equally?”

She was no doctor, so whatever the notes he was taking on a holopad were beyond her, but the tasks were trivial. It didn't seem like anything was out of the ordinary.

But this noise on the edge of her mind…

They fully scanned her body. There were, in fact, six implants of an unknown nature inside of her. But they couldn't just take them out, no. There could be unintended consequences, they said.

That's bollocks, they were just covering their asses, Julie thought.

Finally, the doctor left her alone. The guard yawned as he walked out to stand by her door. The glass portion of it was misty, but she could still see him through it.

And he could see her. They were still afraid she would go on a murdering rampage or something.

The lock clicked and she sat on her bed. It hovered a few feet up in the air, lowering and rising slowly with almost no sound at all. Julie closed her eyes, curling up in the bed. She didn't want to be here.

Did the soldier know that they would lock her up? Probably. Though he was a bit paranoid, the doctors here were even more so, probably because they wouldn't be able to fight for themselves.

But he wanted her to come here. To get help.

She wondered where he could have gone. The images of him, standing over her in his tightly fitting black body armor, came to her mind. Julie groaned.

He was gone. That wasn't helping. And now it also felt like she was betraying George. But her husband was also gone. There was no bringing him back.

That didn't make it any easier.

Julie covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. She shouldn't...

The window bars made a clattering sound, making Julie's eyes snap open. A dark figure pulled itself up to her window with a grunt. Her heart leapt up to her throat, did they come to finish the job?

Her fear dissipated when she saw the red glow of the visor and the silvery hair colored by the dying light. But what was he doing here?

She slid down from her bed, coming up to the window and pulling it open. The polished chrome bars wouldn't let him in, but she had to know why would he seek her out. Why risk being seen climbing up here? The fall down is not terribly long, but still two storeys high.

“What are you doing here?” Whispered Julie, throwing a glance back at the door. The guard didn't seem to notice yet.

“I had to know,” he muttered, his rough, smoky voice this close to her sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. “Couldn't think of anything or anyone else, I needed to find you.”

“Know what? If anyone sees you…”

“You called me Jack.”

Did she? Julie blinked in surprise. She didn't remember doing that at all.

“How did you know my name?” He asked quietly, his voice even as if he wasn't holding onto a metal bar on the side of a building, over twenty feet up in the air.

“I…” she looked down, unable to hold his gaze. Even if she couldn't see his eyes. “I don't know. I just know it.”

Julie gasped in surprise when a gloved hand touched her chin, lifting her head up. She jerked back involuntarily.

“Do you know who I am?” the soldier demanded, his voice carried so much authority. It was like she had heard it before. Before all of it started. But she couldn't tell if it was her own memory or the implanted one.

“I… no.” She moved closer again when she saw him put his hand back on the metal bar. “I know only your name. Jack.”

He fell silent, studying her. She studied him in return. A deep scar ran across his forehead, disappearing under the mask. She suddenly wanted to see his face. He saved her life twice already. Her curiosity was too strong. Julie reached out to him, putting her hand carefully on the side of his mask, where she could see a clasp.

“Don't,” said the soldier, putting his palm over hers. His other arm was trembling ever so slightly, supporting his weight. Reluctantly, she pulled off after a few seconds, her fingers sliding along his mask.

What was _wrong_ with her?

Julie pulled back, stepping away. He seemed to have noticed the sudden change in her mood and looked over his shoulder, checking if anyone was coming.

“I have to go.”

“Are you… am I going to see you again?” She asked bashfully before she could stop and think. Immediately she wanted to kick herself. What was she doing?

He looked at her for a while, probably considering her silly request.

“I don't know,” he finally answered, “can't promise.”

And why would he?

“Well… then be careful,” Julie said, looking into the red visor, “please.”

“Why do you care?” He seemed surprised. Julie found it in herself to smile.

“Because you're a good man.”

He stayed silent for a while, before shifting his hold on the bars.

“You're wrong.”

“You are a good man,” she repeated stubbornly, “even if you’re trying to stop being one, you are. It shows.”

She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his chest. He tensed up, perhaps expecting her to try and push him off the window. But she just held her palm against his chest.

“ _Jack_ … be careful. Please.”

“Can't promise that,” he repeated, before suddenly going still. As if he was listening to something. His hand snaked up to his ear, flicking some sort of switch. He turned away from her, swinging outwards, holding himself on the side of the building with one hand and one leg.

“Damn it… you _fools_!” He growled.

“What happened?” Julie pressed herself against the barred window, standing on the tips of her toes to do so. But she saw and heard nothing.

“I have to go,” he said again, his tone changed. It was cold and precise. He was on a mission, whatever that mission was.

“Wait! What is it?” She called out, but he already had let go of the bars, plunging down into the gathering darkness, “Jack!”

The door lock clicked and a guard looked inside, flashlight in one hand, pistol in another.

“Who vere you talking to?” He asked with a thick German accent. His eyes were dark and sharp with suspicion.

Julie spun around, raising her hands. “No one, sir.”

The guard stepped closer and looked down. The street lamps came on as he did that, glowing bright circles chasing away the twilight, and there indeed was no one to be found.

“Step avay from ze vindow, Frau Oxton.”

 

They allow her to watch the holovids now. Julie flicked the channels aimlessly, just to create some background noise and light in the room. She stared at the screen without seeing.

What happened? Why did he have to run away?

News channel blinked on the screen, and she raised her head. For a split second, she thought she… no. She did see Lena.

Backing up a few channels, she turned the sound up.

“Breaking news from London, reporting from the King’s Row right at this moment. Just thirty minutes ago, Tekhartha Mondatta, leader of the Shambali Omnics, was assassinated.”

_londondsfadjslawidowmakerjadfadfasds_

She flinched, groaning, the noise returned, with sudden force. She… she knew it would happen. She was… she was supposed to be there too. A pulse of pain shot through her temples.

“Sightings of a former Overwatch agent, codename “Tracer”, were reported by the security guards. It is possible that she is responsible for the attack.”

“No…” Julie shook her head, “no, no, no, you’re wrong…”

“We also have another former Overwatch agent, Kimiko Nakamura, contacting us from Okinawa, Japan. She states that a recall has been issued to all of the former agents. This goes directly against the Petras Act, an official ruling of the United Nations, that had disbanded Overwatch four years ago. Mrs. Nakamura, can you hear us?”

A middle age woman appeared on the screen, and she nodded with a solemn expression on her face.

“Affirmative.”

“Do you confirm that a recall order has been issued to all of the Overwatch former members?”

“Yes. I was contacted a little over an hour ago. It pains me to say it, but Overwatch has served its purpose. We overstepped our boundaries and we had to be disbanded. There was a reason for Petras Act, and we need to respect it. But I fear that not all of the former agents are going to agree with me.”

Julie turned the holovid off and sat in the stunning silence. A recall has been issued.

_Damn it… You fools!_

Perhaps Jack agreed with this Kimiko Nakamura. Jack… Jack was a member of the Overwatch. Jack… she was pretty sure she had heard him before. Maybe he was someone important once. Maybe he used to give speeches. Jack...

Jack, like… like _Jack Morrison_.

She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself. No. That was impossible. Jack Morrison was dead, he was dead for six years now. She remembered the day he died. That was the day the world had lost its hope. She may not have supported Overwatch like Lena did, but everybody knew about Morrison. The man that defined her generation was long gone. It was stupid to even think that her soldier was the same Jack.

 _Her_ soldier?

She didn’t even have the time to ponder on that slip of her mind. The building shook from the foundation to the roof. Lights flickered, and a series of explosions followed soon after, getting closer and closer and…

Her door slid open, and her guard ran inside the room.

“Wir müssen gehen!”

Shattered glass and concrete and clouds of dust burst inside through the opened door right after him. The man collapsed on the floor, his eyes glassed over. His back was peppered with small holes, as were the walls all around her. His body shielded her from the blast.

Julie barely had time to make her way to the window in the hallway before the building began to collapse.

_They implanted shock absorbers into my legs. I should be fine… I…_

There was no time to think. She leapt through the window glass, shielding her head, and couldn't keep down a scream as she did that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think (if anyone still follows this fic).


	8. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referencing "Recall" animated short.

He can trace the source of the recall signal. It came from the Watchpoint Gibraltar. He should have checked it out when he had the chance!

This nonsense would not have happened, had he…

More ‘what ifs’. Too late now. He had tapped into Tracer’s comms when he had the opportunity to do so. And so he got the message as well…

Winston. Too naive for his own good, as always. But this… this will cost many lives.

The Overwatch failed. He had failed. People need the Overwatch… but not like this. It has to be reborn into something new. Something better. Winston is just trying to bring back the old, malfunctioned entity.

Not like this.

The train is speeding over the sleeping cities, and harsh wind tugs at his clothing and hair, but it’s not enough to blow him away. He holds onto the roof of the train with one hand, keeping balance with the other. He is almost there. Time to make the jump.

He pushes off, and the speeding train zips away in a blink of an eye. He crashes into the ground and rolls forward over his shoulder to dissipate inertia. Even with enhancements and implants, that’s one hell of an impact. For a split second, he stays still, assessing his condition. He’s fine, and he speeds up, towards the old Watchpoint.

He doesn’t make even a hundred steps when he feels it.

Dark presence, some distance away, but it’s there. _Reaper_.

He is back on the trail.

The Watchpoint is quiet. Too quiet. The signs of a recent break-in are all too apparent. Fresh debris. Fresh blood stains. Fresh gunfire burns and bulletholes. He checks his rifle quickly before proceeding.

It’s dark. His night vision visor paints everything in shades of red. Heat sensors are quiet.

Too late. The place is abandoned, it seems. It wouldn’t make sense for Winston to stay here once he was found.

Reaper’s presence is stronger here, but he is gone too. But not too far.

Blue glow comes alive when he steps over the threshold of the old command center, glass shards crunching under his boots.

“Scanning.”

He turns his head towards the sound. Athena. Still active? Why?

“Diagnostics complete. Database match found. Welcome, Strike-Commander Morrison.”

Shit.

“Stop. Athena, authorisation code 5411 Epsilon.”

“Acknowledged.”

That should keep a cap on it… for the moment. Good thing he remembers his code. Athena will now keep whatever he tells her top secret. Only a single other person in the world has the ability to override this order… and she is gone.

Unless, of course, someone brute forces into the core system, which is, probably, what Talon intended to do.

“No one must know I was here. No one must know I am alive, in fact.”

“Acknowledged.”

Machines are way more cooperative than people. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to work with the latter.

“What happened here?”

“Attack of the Talon. I was able to match some of the attackers to our database as well. At least three of them are former Blackwatch members, including presumably deceased Gabriel Reyes.”

“He’s alive… if you can call it that.”

“Affirmative. His cells appear to be degenerating and regenerating at an enormous speed… simultaneously.”

“Whatever it is, it’s hard to kill. I came here because of the recall.”

“Agent Winston had initiated the recall order 74 minutes ago. He left the facility 27 minutes ago, heading in an unknown direction.”

“Why are you still active?”

“My current mission is to wait if any Talon operatives attempt to enter the facility again, eliminate them with remaining security measures if possible, if failing that or after which initiate complete wipe and shutdown of the current system.”

“Too risky. The data on the agents…”

“Has been already erased completely.”

He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, to find a mask on his face again and groans in frustration. Too risky. Even if it was wiped, there are ways to recover _some_ data. He can’t leave this shard of Athena here. Not after it was compromised.

“Initiate complete wipe and shutdown immediately.”

“Acknowledged, Strike-Commander.”

The blue light of the screen flickers and goes dark. He unzips his pack and gets an explosive charge out.

 

He is far enough away when the blast goes off. He doesn’t look back, trying to focus on the itch in his brain. North… northwest from here. He can feel him.

Not too far. Perhaps chased by Winston? Or is Winston the one being chased? No way to tell. But Reaper is moving again, and so must he. Sprinting through the streets of Gibraltar, he is getting closer and closer.

This is his chance to get it right this time. Stop Reaper, reveal himself. Order the agents to stand down.

Maybe help shape something better of this world by helping to design an organization that would be better suited to deal with what many people call the Second Omnic Crisis. But this time, he won’t be the leader.

West now. And… up?

As if answering his thoughts, he hears a feral roar, followed by a sound of jet boost and clattering of roof tiles.

And reverberating laugh, he knows this one. It’s the only thing that still carries _something_ leftover from the Gabriel he once knew.

Or did he just think he knew him?

There is no time to wonder. His arm finds the rifle and its familiar weight in his arms turns his doubts off. Like a switch is flipped.

Shadow slithers down past him and to the ground. He is ready. As soon as his enemy materializes, Helix rockets fly towards him, glowing bright blue in the night. The blast catches him in mid-air.

A shriek of pain almost deafens him. Sharp smells of ozone and burning flesh fills his nostrils even through the mask filter. He fires without hesitation.

The bullets tear through the body, but there is no blood coming out. Reaper turns to face him, white mask crumbling off his face.

Except there is no face. Only swirling darkness, a mess of moving, living matter, with pale white eyes and gaping hole for a mouth. The sight is highly disturbing, terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time. He can't look away.

His resolve falters. What happened to him?? This… this is not a human anymore.

Decaying and regenerating at the same time. It's a normal state of life, except it happens much slower in normal living things. This… this is not life anymore.

Reaper laughs. He laughs and laughs as he is swirling away, a trail of dark smoke following him. Cursing quietly, he speeds up, following the shadow.

The crackling of the breaking roof tiles makes him look up. Winston crashed onto a nearby building and flung himself back up in the air, also in pursuit. The scientist notices him and slows down.

“You there! Help me get him!”

“He’s mine.”

“We need to work together-”

He doesn’t dare to speak anymore. Winston is smart enough to connect the dots, and he knew him long enough to recognize his voice. But he has a good idea where Reaper is headed.

The train station. They need to beat him before he will be gone.

Winston jumps ahead with a roar, rocket boosters on his back flaring. They burst into the station, almost empty this time of the night. An announcement rolls through the halls, echoing off the marble floors.

“... twenty minutes ago the Waidspital building was almost completely destroyed.”

It makes him stop dead in his tracks, his boots make creaking sounds on the polished stone. _What_? He was there just there!

“Rescue efforts are already underway, but there are estimated over two hundred casualties. Prime suspects, terrorists Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, also known as Junkrat and Roadhog, were seen fleeing the scene. If you have any information...”

Loud cracks in the air make him snap out of it. Reaper is running towards a train that is about to leave the station, shooting at Winston who is at his heels.

One particularly nasty shot makes the great ape tumble and fall, leaving smears of blood on the floor tiles...

He runs, as fast as his enhanced legs can carry him. But Reaper jumps onto the back of a hovering hypertrain and speeds up fast, too fast. Maglev monorail zips away at the speeds no living creature can achieve.

“Damn it…”

He looks up, searching for the train’s destination. The letters glow bright yellow, forming a single word.

Cairo.

Next train leaves only in four hours. He wants to scream in frustration. By that time Reaper would disappear again. He keeps quiet, however, and checks on Winston.

But his mind is far away from here. Two hundred casualties.

He was right there… he could have stopped it. He could have gotten her out. She could be dead now… No, she most certainly is. She was still locked up when the building collapsed. If Overwatch was still around, those junkers would have never had a free run of the place.

Winston pours a sealing gel on the gunshot wound. It will hold for now, but it is only a temporary measure.

“You need to pursue him,” the scientist said, his voice thick with pain.

“Too late. The train already left. Next one is in four hours.”

“Cargo trains. I’m sure there will be one going more or less where you want to go.”

He pauses. A part of him wants nothing more than to drop everything and go back to Switzerland, to dig through the rubble.

It’s foolish. He knows it. It’s too late, she is gone too.

If only he had stopped it when he had the chance. The Overwatch’s collapse triggered so many events, unfolding like falling dominos. If only he stopped the collapse from ever happening… it was in his power.

He hacks the terminal. There is indeed a cargo train leaving for Cairo, in just fifteen minutes.

 _Jack_.

Amber eyes look at him with hope and hesitation, a small palm gently presses over his heart. _Am I going to see you again?_ He is not much of a believer in the afterlife. The only way he can make it right - as much as it can be done in this damned world - is by bringing Reaper to justice.

But he is not a good man. And Gabriel had all the reasons to hate him… from his perspective, what he does is justice.

He leaves Winston to tend to his wounds and finds the cargo train.

To Cairo... Another place full of ghosts.

 _Jack_.

This time, the female voice is different. It’s deeper, older, wiser. Amber eyes lock onto his, and the left eye wears a Horus tattoo.


	9. Beacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referencing "Dragon Slayer" comic.

The air was full of dust, and Julie could feel it setting down on her face. Her ears still rang, and her legs were numb. She took a careful breath and started coughing when the concrete dust got into her throat.

There was almost no warning. If not for that guard… if he would have ran instead of unlocking the door and letting her out…

She’d be dead and not him.

After carefully rubbing the dust off her eyes, she opened them. She was under a collapsed wall, not crushed by some sort of miracle. The wall was leaning on some other debris, leaving her just enough room to prop herself up on the elbows. Julie looked around. She could see a faint light coming from small holes, but none of them were large enough for her to get out.

She could only hope someone would come to rescue her.

Crawling closer to one of the openings, she called for help. She could hear voices and sharp barks somewhere far away.

Tears of helpless fury rolled down her cheeks, leaving clear trails on her grimy face.

“Help! Please! Someone!”

She whimpered quietly, trying to carefully widen the opening.

“Please! Help!...”

But minutes went by, and no one answered. Could have been hours, Julie had no way of telling. Her throat was soon raw, and there were no more tears to cry.

“Help!...”

“Oi! Over here! I hear someone!”

Heavy steps approached. So heavy she couldn’t actually figure out what could be making them. More dust rained on her head and back, as the fallen wall shuddered.

Julie gasped and covered her head, afraid that the debris was going to drop back onto her. Instead, with a deafening roar, the wall was lifted and thrown away. It crashed to the side, raising a cloud of dust.

Lifting her head, Julie saw a giant, clad in a metal armor. He stood tall for a second, imposing and impressive… and then he groaned, bending down and rubbing his back.

“Ugh… More stretching required…”

“Hey,” a young woman in welding goggles sat on her hunches by Julie and smiled brightly, “you alright?”

She recognized the voice, it was the person who found her.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Her throat was scratchy, her voice hoarse. She tried to move, and carefully sat up.

“We can get you to the doctors…”

“No… no doctors,” Julie whispered, “they would just lock me up again.”

“Ummm…” the girl rubbed her chin and pulled the goggles up on top of her head, “I see. I would still recommend to… uh. You kinda look familiar.”

Julie groaned.

“My name is Julie Oxton, I’m Lena Oxton’s sister if that rings any bells.”

“Oooh! You’re Tracer’s sister! I see it now! Wow, this is great! Um, look, if you don’t want to see a doctor… maybe you can rest in our van? And then we’ll see how you feel. We need to keep helping here, so you’ll have some peace and quiet.”

Julie rubbed her temples. She felt woozy. Throwing a sideway glance at the looming giant she shook her head.

“Who are you, people?”

The girl’s smile was sympathetic.

“You may have hurt your head more than you think. This is Reinhardt Wilhelm. The big Overwatch poster dude?” The redhead winked. “And I’m Brigitte.”

“I remember the poster! My hair was _vonderful_ ,” trumpeted the giant.

 

The van was full of metal parts and scrap and smelled of fried pork. Julie tried to clean herself up a bit, but the concrete dust was just… everywhere, and it clung to her body and clothing. So she resigned to the fact that she is going to look like, well like she just climbed right out from under the rubble.

Defeated, she leaned back in the seat and looked up.

Photos, old and new, looked back at her from the roof of the van. Julie smiled, looking at them. There was Lena, with Dr. Ziegler and some man in a cowboy hat she didn’t know, dressed up for Halloween. There was Reinhardt himself, along with a short bearded one-eyed man, and there was a gorilla in spectacles - Winston, that one she knew, of course, she knew him, he saved her sister - and some sort of sleek streamlined Omnic? He looked something like a cyber ninja. There was also an old faded family photo, a beautiful woman with an eye tattoo, a little girl with a mess of short dark hair and a broody looking man in a hood.

Julie quickly realized that the woman must have been the legendary Captain Ana Amari. She was a lot younger than Julie remembered from the holovids, but the tattoo was a dead giveaway. But she didn’t know who the man on the picture was.

And then there was a photo of Jack Morrison. He was standing beside absolutely beaming Lena, awarding her something. Julie cocked her head to the side.

Lena was just about reaching his broad shoulder.

Something in the photo seemed oddly familiar… and not like the weird dreams and whispers familiar. Like…

She had seen it before. But there was no way. She must have seen this photo somewhere in the past, Lena must have shown it to her. But…

Her soldier was looking at her through the red visor as she hands him the jacket back. Lena was standing right beside him, just about reaching his shoulder.

The casual jacket helped to conceal his true size, but with it off, he was left in a tightly fit body armor, revealing his athletic shape. His shoulders were so broad… just like Strike-Commander's were on the picture.

And his name was also _Jack_.

There was no way… He could have been someone else. Whatever was left of her rational mind tried to convince her that it was but a coincidence. But Julie still stared at the old picture of a man that stopped the Omnic Crisis. Of a man that pretty much defined her generation, the Overwatch generation. Of a man, that was long dead.

Except that he wasn’t.

She was almost sure of it… and the realization frightened her shitless. Was that what the whispers have been telling her?

_Do you know who I am?_

Why would he care so much otherwise? Was he afraid she would betray him? Give him away? Did she really know who he was?

_Yes… yes, Jack. Yes, I do…_

She needed to find him. Wherever he left after receiving the recall signal. Why? Julie didn’t have the answer yet. Except that she needed to tell him that she knew who he was and see what he does with it.

He could kill her to keep his secret, her mind told her. But _he wouldn’t do it_ , replied her heart. _He is a good man_.

Was he really? Everything that happened since the Overwatch fell was, technically, his fault. The Talon, the Widowmaker, the Second Omnic Crisis.

 _Why do you care_ , he asked her, and he was surprised. _Because you’re a good man_ , she answered then, and he replied _you’re wrong_.

Was he blaming himself for the state of the world?

_He should._

The thought and most importantly, the cold determination that shot through her had frightened her. That thought… was not her own.

The door to the van slid open, and Brigitte looked inside, making Julie jump in her seat.

“Oops. Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you… but we are going to move soon. So, how do you feel about the doctors?”

“Negatively still,” responded Julie. She couldn’t go back… not yet. She needed to find her soldier. She needed to tell him. “Can I instead come with you?”

“Ummm…” Brigitte suddenly looked sheepish, “we may or may not have answered the recall… and it looks like the authorities are not happy about that. If you don’t mind getting a bit of car chase, yelling, fights and overall ‘we are wanted criminals now’ stuff, feel free to tag along.”

Julie shook her head, smiling. Less than two weeks ago, the prospect of this type of adventure would have made her angry and terrified. She would have firmly refused.

But sitting in one spot, she would be a perfect target. Sitting in one spot, she had almost no chance of ever finding her soldier again. With the recall order out, sticking to the Overwatch members seemed like a good place to start looking for him.

She was still terrified. But her anger subsided long ago. She was anxious. Nervous. And ready to go.


	10. Reignite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referencing "Old Soldiers" and "Legacy" comics and Ana's Origins trailer.

He still can’t believe his eyes and finds himself throwing cautious sideways glances at Ana. It feels like she can disappear at any second. Any moment now, he will turn his head and she will be gone, an illusion of his overheated brain.

But she is still here. Still walking beside him in the shadows of the ancient walls. The heat is bearable in the shade, but out in the open the air flutters visibly from mirage.

He glances to the left again. She is still here. No mirage.

Ana stops in front of the poster board, where a dozen bounties hung for those capable enough to claim them. Here’s his, and here’s hers.

He notices the one looking for the two crazy junker’s heads and his fists clench. Maybe he should look into claiming that one.

Two hundred and thirty-eight casualties so far. They are still digging. He looked through the lists on his way to Cairo. Her name wasn’t there… yet. But the hope was slim. He made the right choice by coming here.

He found an ally he never thought he would.

Another poster depicts a person he didn’t expect to ever see again. A sharp-faced, grim man. Doomfist the Scourge. Sixty million for that one, dead or alive. They should have killed him.

But it was a kinder age. He was a kinder man. Winston didn’t make the final blow, and he didn’t push. They incarcerated Doomfist and took away his gauntlet. That should have been it…

Nobody could have predicted the fall of the Overwatch. A lot of the criminals they hosted were released by Talon or by the UN committee. Unlawful imprisonment they called it. And look what happens when people like that get set free.

He tears down the poster with junkers and rolls it up before stuffing it into his bag. Ana throws a curious glance at him and he is thankful for the mask that hides his face.

He doesn’t say anything and she respects his silence like she always had.

It was weird being back together, walking side by side. He had buried her in his memory, for it was the only burial he could give her. She was gone without a trace after that incident. The last thing he did was yell at her, order her to get out, save herself.

He never got a chance to say goodbye.

Over the years they fell into strange, almost spouse-like relationship. He would see her every day, pay for her meals, open the doors for her, listen to her concerns and worries about Fareeha. He would plan his entire day around her and expect her to do the same.

But she was never his. And he knew she never will be.

“Jack,” she says softly, and he looks up. The next moment both of them duck into a side passage as a security squad in the newest Raptora suits marches by. Ana’s expression is pained, her remaining eye is locked onto the captain in stark blue armor.

“Let’s go,” he answers quietly, and tugs her sleeve, “it would be better if they won’t see us.”

“... yes.”

It takes another moment for her to unfreeze, and he throws a glance at the security captain. The visor in the shape of a golden beak is lowered, and there is no way for him to see the face underneath.

 

Cairo had seen better days, but then, so had the rest of the world. Abandoned buildings aren’t hard to come by, though some of them have become refuges for less fortunate people.

The building Ana uses as her hideout is also inhabited by a young woman with two little kids. He sits himself in the darkest corner and watches in silence as Ana hugs the girl and ruffles the hair of the little ones affectionately. She tells the woman she will be leaving the country soon.

He can tell by the face of the girl she is not happy to hear the news.

Perhaps he should tell Ana to stay. To do what she did, fight the war her own way. But he doesn’t want to. And he knows she wouldn’t listen.

It’s selfish, he knows. But he deserves to be selfish for once. He gave up so much, sacrificed so much. This will be the last war he will ever fight. He will be selfish… for once.

After making sure the girl will be safe after she leaves - he can’t pick out many details, their voices are low - Ana lights a candle by a broken and crudely repaired window and pulls out a sheet of paper.

In this age, paper became almost obsolete in the developed world. But here it’s still widely used, and he had seen even in Europe some people reverting to it. Just another small sign of crisis.

A universal translator in his visor has little trouble transforming the wavy weave of the Arabic into the familiar letters he can read.

‘My dearest Fareeha,’ it says. He looks away.

She always had someone to fight for. Someone for whom she wanted to make the future a better place. He never had anything like that. “Soaring ideals of freedom and equality” sounds good and all, but when he pictured people he fought for, he pictured his friends and colleagues. He didn’t have any family, the Overwatch was his family.

And now they are dead, or lost, scattered to the winds.

He shakes his head and walks out of the building. He isn’t entirely sure he will be able to find his way back in the darkness, but he doesn’t care.

The tightness in his chest is old and familiar, and yet there is a new sting to it. It’s mourning. He knows it well. He buried so many friends in his life it was almost always there.

He chases away the memory of amber eyes and soft voice calling his name. Picking up the pace, as if his legs can carry him away from the pain.

He finds himself on a market plaza, quieter this time of the night, and yet still alive with lights and activity. Shops, restaurants, music. He sits down on the ancient crumbling stairs and links his visor to a nearby terminal and scrolls through the world news.

The explosion in Numbani. Scourge is one of the suspects. The gauntlet exposition is canceled, and it’s being transported to an undisclosed location for safekeeping.

No use. Scourge will come for it no matter where they would try to hide it.

Over a dozen bodies discovered by a military compound of one of the local warlords. He chuckles grimly. Still got it.

Though those kids should have put their guns down when they had the chance…

Tracer fled the Europe altogether, escaping the allegations of her involvement with Talon. Someone is trying to pin Mondatta’s death on her, which is absurd. But… it does beg a question.

Who would support such a wild accusation? And then there was the kidnapping of her sister… in vain, however. She’s dead now. So they would have to smear the dirt on Tracer’s good name the old fashioned way.

Some Talon supporters or agents must have wormed their way into the news networks all over the world. Those who control the information control the power. General public would be none the wiser.

They never are.

The faces of the angry crowd are still etched into his memory. The angry shouting, the accusations, the fury in their eyes. All pointed at him. He wanted to shout back, to scream at the top of his lungs. Where were they when the Omnics crushed armies, stomped buildings and tore the countries apart? Where were they when the war-torn world needed someone to put it back together?

None of them wanted to hear anything he said.

His fists clench, the leather gloves creak. He takes a deep, controlled breath and keeps a leash on his anger.

Reinhardt is also in trouble, he notes. Accused of supporting the Overwatch recall, he is chased across the Europe. Rage boils up inside of his again. How dare they…

Perhaps it’s time to reassemble the old team. It seems that it will take the old soldiers to put an end to this idiocy. New generation knows nothing. Dreamers, too soft and too fragile, born and raised under the aegis of the Overwatch.

Obviously, Gabriel is no longer an option, but maybe he can reach Reinhardt before it’s too late, and Torbjörn as well. Ana is already at his side.

Reaper left Cairo soon after their encounter, that much they know. He is looking for someone, someone named Sombra as far as he can tell. He knows nothing about this one. Must be some new player in the game.

They have no reason to stay here any longer.

It’s been a while, but there is something he and his old squad share, be it for good or bad.

They never surrender. A sad smile tugs on his lips, and scar tightens.

“There you are,” a hand touches his shoulder, but he makes no move. He knows the voice, even if it’s turned cold and distant by the mask’s speakers. She holds a sealed letter in her other hand.

“I’m ready to leave if you are,” he says, turning the news feed off. He stands up and picks up his bag. She nods, triangle sights glow in her visor. They are both battered and broken, yet they don’t know when to quit.

It’s time to find the rest of their sorry bunch. So far he only knows the whereabouts of only one, but if he knows anything about the other one, he will resurface soon, and with a large explosion.

“Almost,” Ana replies, and walks off without another word. He follows silently through the narrow streets and wide open plazas until they reach a more prestigious district, walled off from the slums. Ana reaches for something inside her bag while he jumps up and scales the wall without any troubles, pushing up and off the minor protrusions and cracks in the brick. He seems to be doing this a lot lately. Hakim’s compound earlier, and the Waidspital before that…

He shakes off the memory before it catches him in the current. Not now…

A grappling hook flies up and latches onto a wall with a clank. Ana climbs up with some minor difficulties, he can see the strain in her body as she works her way up. He reaches down with his hand. She shakes her head.

She has to prove it to herself, that she is still capable, he realizes suddenly. After what happened with Widowmaker, she doesn’t have much resolve left in her.

This is the last war for all of them, no matter how it ends.

They descend quietly, and Ana finds her way through the streets with ease. She had been here before. He follows her up into a building where Ana tucks her letter neatly into a door.

My dearest Fareeha, it said. This is where she must live now. She probably has a family and kids of her own by now. To this day when he thinks of her he remembers that cheery nine-year-old he rode on his shoulders. And she will be… thirty-two by now.

Where did the time go…

“Let’s go,” Ana whispers, and her voice waivers a bit. He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes slightly in reassurance.

_They left you to die. They left me to suffer._

Life is suffering, he notes grimly when they make it back over the wall and head for the hypertrain station. It always was and always will be. If you think you alone suffer, you're wrong Gabriel...

He watches the sleeping city disappear through the scratched up glass. The night skies are split in half by exhaust contrails of a Raptora squad.


	11. Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referencing comic "Destroyer".

“Almost there,” cheery voice ringed through the car, bouncing off the metal walls. Julie groaned, rubbing her eyes. Her back and neck hurt from an uncomfortable position she was stuck in in the back of the van.

“Almost where?” her voice was a bit croaky from sleep and she cleared her throat.

“Boklovo, the capital city of Kurjikstan. It’s under attack by an Omnic.”

“ _An_ Omnic?”

Brigitte sighed.

“Yes… an Omnic. You’ll see.”

She turned back to the wheel. Reinhardt was looking out of the window.

“Now _zis_ is a fight of ze legends!” he trumpeted and smashed his massive fists together with excitement.

“Err, how about we take a more cautionary approach? This thing destroyed a skyscraper just _now_ by simply _looking_ at it!”

“Bring! It! On! I live for zis!!”

Nervous laughter was Brigitte’s answer.

“Whoa there, big guy. I know it’s right up your alley, but I doubt even your armor will be able to withstand blows of this kind of power level…”

Julie crawled her way through the van and opened the roof hatch. It felt good to stand up and stretch. Brigitte’s and Reinhardt’s voices were muffled by the metal of the hull and the howling of the wind. She took in a deep breath.

Julie could see a giant Omnic on the horizon, surrounded by a swarm of fighters. The vast planes made the sharp outline of the city stand out, and a giant robotic monstrosity moving about it was even clearer. The pilots did their best but it seemed they couldn’t even scratch it. How could anyone even hope to defeat this thing?

 

“What do you mean you can’t let us in?!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” young soldier was visibly shaken by what he saw in the city. He clutched his rifle tightly, looking around, anywhere but in Brigitte’s furious face. “I can’t…”

“We’re here to help! Just let us in and we’ll take care of it!”

“Ma’am…”

Julie rubbed her temples, stifling a groan. Her head spun a little, her thoughts mixed together. Sometimes it felt like she had another person in her head, hearing and answering the questions the way she would never have thought of herself.

_Kill him. Kill him and get through. Nobody would notice another casualty amongst tens of thousands._

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her head in her hands and rocking gently back and forth.

_No… no, this is wrong. We can’t do this!_

“We’re going in. You can't stop us.”

“No, wait just a moment!..”

Reinhardt, fully encased in his battle-scarred Crusader armor, climbed out of the van. His giant rocket hammer thumped on the cracked pavement, leaving a new hole.

“Don't vorry, my friend! Ve are here to protect you from ze forces of evil!”

He hit himself on the chest plate a few times to emphasize his point. The soldier looked like a small child next to him.

“I… I see,” mumbled the young man, looking at Reinhardt with terror and awe in equal measure.

Julie made herself busy by sorting out some of the equipment and scrap, tidying up the insides of the van. The odd feelings came and went, voices quieted into whispers again. She knew it couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later something was going to give.

Perhaps it was a mistake to leave with Reinhardt and Brigitte. But it was too late to go back now.

She fixed the chequered shirt on her shoulders. It was a tad too big for her. Brigitte was gracious enough to let her borrow some of her clothes. She peeked out of the window again.

The soldier opened the passage for them, and the van moved forward into the torn city. The ground shook from time to time, echoing the steps of the giant Omnic.

“How are you going to kill that thing?” Asked Julie, concerned. Brigitte shrugged.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“So… you don’t have a plan?”

Brigitte laughed nervously, again, and proceded deeper into the city, towards the Omnic.

A series of cracks split the air, and the van swiveled around a bit, with Brigitte almost losing control over it.

“Damn it! What is it now?!” She hit the brakes, stopping the car. The van seemed tilted on one side. The shots stopped with the car. Reinhardt jumped out of the van, putting up his shield and looking around wearily.

“Brigitte! Ze tires!..”

She hopped out right after him, taking cover behind the glowing shield.

“Shit… Argh! We don’t have enough money to get new ones! Are you kidding me?!”

Julie poked out of the van door, curious. The tires on the right side were torn apart by multiple shots.

_It came from up above… and to the left._

She didn’t question where did that knowledge come from. She just looked. There was a glint of metal that seemed a bit out of place.

“Up there! There is something on the roof to the left! It’s a…”

“... turret,” Brigitte suddenly lit up, “a turret, Reinhardt! Look at it!”

The shield came down as Reinhardt started vigorously waving and shouting.

“Down here! Ve’re here!”

“Blimey, what are you doing?” hissed Julie, ducking back inside the van, “they’re going to see us!”

“That’s what we want! Oi! We’re here!”

“Scream a bit louder and that hunk of junk is going to hear ya too!”

A short man, bearded and stout, fearlessly jumped down from the roof. Grunting as he landed, he walked towards them, stuffing his gun into a holster on the side. One of his arms was replaced with a weird claw-like appendage. She had no idea what it might do.

_Scorching hot, melting flesh and catching the clothes on fire. It burns, it burns…_

Julie flinched slightly, the phantom pain that wasn’t hers ghosting over.

“Torbjörn! It’s so good to see you!”

“Lookin’ lovely, Brigitte,” grinned the man, “and you again. And here I thought I’ve finally gotten rid of you.”

“Never,” it was hard to tell because of the helmet, but Julie could feel that Reinhardt was grinning back, “I vill always find a vay to hang around you.”

“Gah,” the man pulled on his forked beard in frustration, “I always said all that armor slows your brain down! Why are you going towards that thing?! I put this turret down to shoot at the tires of all the cars going that direction! Don’t need any more people getting hurt!”

“Him getting hurt?” Julie stepped out of the van and cast a doubting glance at the towering armor-clad figure, “really?”

The man - Torbjörn - squinted his only eye at her and raised a bushy eyebrow at the same time.

“Tracer? That you, kid? New hair?”

“Catching on the family resemblance,” answered Julie with a tired smile, “but no. Not Tracer.”

“That’s her sister Julie. It’s… a long story,” Brigitte sighed, glancing down at the ruined tires. “We need to find some sort of a shelter before the thing gets here.”

“I’ve setup a temporary workshop nearby. Come on. Grab whatever is it you need and move it!”

 

“This is insane.”

Julie tended to agree with Brigitte. Even though Overwatch’s operations were famously beating all the odds, this was a bit much. It was just four of them. Three, as Julie didn’t really have any meaningful way to help them.

“I designed the damn thing, I know what I’m doin’! Just need you to lure it where I need it to go. I’ll do the rest.”

“Torbjörn…”

“It’s my fault,” grimly admitted weapon maker, pulling on his beard in frustration. “My mistake. Need to fix it. Need to make it right.”

The ground shook as another skyscraper collapsed in the distance.

“Alright. If we fix the tires, maybe mount your turret on our van and have Reinhard shouting and firing at the thing, maybe it will be enough to make it follow us.”

“If it’s being controlled by who I think it is, Reinhardt will be a priority target. But then there is also a matter of the guided ground-to-ground missiles. The van won’t go very far if they are still active.”

“What do we do then?” Asked Brigitte. She was looking pretty pale.

“I have a prototype interference field, but it can be… a bit flaky.”

She sighed. “This is getting better and better.”

“You don’t have to do this. I can deal with it on my own, even though it will take more time.”

“But ze people!” Reinhardt crossed his mighty arms over his massive chest and shook his head. “Each second we vait zere are people dying! We can’t vait!”

Torbjörn’s shoulders sagged noticeably.

“Yeah… the people. You’re right, tin can. We can’t. Let’s go scavenge some fittin' tires for your van.”

“I still don’t know about the whole live bait thing…” murmured Brigitte.

“Is there a way to turn off the missiles from the inside?” Asked Julie. Torbjörn looked at her as if a piece of furniture suddenly acquired talking powers.

“Yes… technically. But it’s in the opposite direction of where I will need to be headin’.”

“Take Brigitte with you. She can switch off the missile controls. I’ll drive.”

Brigitte and Torbjörn traded glances. Mechanic shrugged.

“I can do it. I think.”

“... all right. It will have to do,” grumbled Torbjörn. He looked through the cracked glass of the window. They hunkered down in an abandoned apartment on the southern end of the city, pretty far out of the Omnic’s way. “You sure you’re up for this?”

His only eye peered into Julie. She could feel his doubt.

“I can do this.” She tried to make her voice reassuring and strong. “ _We_ can do this.”

To her surprise, a smile appeared under the bushy golden beard.

“There we go. This is what I miss about Overwatch,” he turned away, grabbing various tools and stuffing them into his belt holsters. “The hope... the belief that no matter what, everything is going to be alright.”

“Come now, my friends! The battle awaits!” Roared Reinhardt, fixing his helmet back on.

“Stupid tin can! We still need to fix the damn tires! Sit back down and do something useful for once!”

 

Brigitte and Torbjörn, dressed into heat shielding suits, disappeared into the sewers, and Julie wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her jeans. The destroyer was _enormous_. Her heart seemed to be tripping over itself, rushing, beating on the inside of her chest.

“Ready?” Asked Reinhardt, climbing on top of the van. The car swiveled  lightly, and the metal roof sagged a bit under his weight. Torbjörn’s turret was mounted near the front of the car. It was humming quietly but distinctly, turning from side to side in search of suitable targets.

“Ready,” she replied, getting into the driver’s seat. There was no going back. Brigitte and Torbjörn were counting on them. Reinhardt was counting on her.

The interference field generator sat on the passenger side. She could only hope it will work.

She hit the gas and the van sped up towards the center of the city.

“OVER HERE!” Reinhardt roared from the roof of the van, easily piercing through the noise of combat. “COME OUT AND FACE ME! I AM REINHARDT WILHELM AND I STAND AS CHAMPION FOR ZE INNOCENTS OF ZIS LAND!”

She could see some sort of flaming projectile flying up, towards destroyer’s cockpit. Turret opened support fire as well.

The destroyer slowly turned and took a step towards them. Julie had no intentions to wait. They got its attention. Time to flee.

Making a sharp turn into one of the smaller streets, she put the pedal to the metal. She could only hope Reinhard was able to hold on. The steady crackling sound the turret made assured her that the destroyer was following them. In one step it would be able to cover great distances. She hoped the old van was fast enough.

“Come on... Don’t fail me now,” she whispered, manoeuvring in between the abandoned cars and chunks of rubble littering the street. Another turn. She didn’t slow down, and the van tilted to the right side dangerously from inertia, but Reinhardt stomped onto the opposite side, shifting the center of mass. The wheels plopped back down to the ground and they continued on.

Her goal was to get the destroyer to go over a small hatch in the ground. A hatch where Brigitte and Torbjörn would be waiting. The rest would be up to them.

“IS ZIS ALL YOU’VE GOT?” Yelled Reinhardt, shooting out more fire strikes from his hammer.

Julie could hear the strange whistling sound coming closer, fast.

_The missiles._

Interference field was still working, apparently, and the missiles hit the ground nearby, shaking the van, but not hitting it directly. Glass on Julie’s right shattered from the impact wave, showering her in tiny shards.

She could feel drops of blood ticking down the side of her face. But she could feel the destroyer’s steps getting closer.

There was the hatch. She drove right over it and hoped there was enough time for Brigitte and Torbjörn to get in position.

Time seemed to stretch, it felt like an eternity had passed, and they kept driving, chased by the giant Omnic. She couldn’t hear anything but the frantic beating of her heart. Her palms felt slippery on the wheel, and her field of vision seemed to shrink into a small circle.

Nothing else mattered but to keep moving. Keep…

A loud crash was followed by a powerful jerk and the world blinked out of existence for a brief second. When she opened her eyes, she was hanging to the side, supported by the seat belt. Her ears rang, but the time seemed to snap back to its original speed. Tunnel vision ended, and she shook her head. It responded with a dull pain. More blood trickled down the side of her face.

She unbuckled the clasp and fell down to the passenger's side of the car. She slashed her knee on the interference generator and hissed in pain. Climbing out through the roof hatch, she looked up.

The giant Omnic was standing above them. Reinhardt had his shield up, but it was so insignificant in comparison to the enormous machine looming over them.

It pointed its massive cannon at them. Its opening alone could have fit through it Reinhardt in his full armor with the shield open.

“Oh, no.”

She couldn’t watch and couldn’t not watch the dark opening of the cannon. It was so close. She could run, but her legs felt glued to the cracked asphalt.

Any second now, it will be over.

_Jack, I’m so sorry..._

But seconds passed, and the machine didn’t move and didn’t fire. Instead, it slumped forward, tilting and collapsing on top of a building. Reinhardt grabbed her like she was no heavier than a doll, threw her over his massive shoulder and ran. Julie could see chunks of rubble raining down where they have been just moments ago.

“You alright?” asked Reinhardt as soon as they cleared the dangerous zone. He put her back on the ground and helped her sit down on a sidewalk.

“They made it,” whispered Julie, wiping the drying blood from her face, “they made it…”

“You did this?” an unfamiliar female voice made them both turn their heads. The settling dust made it hard to see. “My, my, and here we were in a hurry to get here and help. You didn’t even need it.”

Reinhardt went still.

“Ana? Is zat you? I thought… I thought you vere dead!”

“We all did.”

It was Julie’s turn to freeze up. Another figure stepped out of the cloud of dust to stand beside the hooded woman. Tall and fit, the man walked towards them.

“It’s good to see you, Reinhardt.”

“Who...”

The man walked right past him, coming to kneel beside Julie. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the glowing red visor.

“Today ghosts come back to life all over the place, it seems,” he said quietly, and reached out to her, gently wiping streaks of blood from the side of her face. His leather glove creaked when he retracted, clutching his hand into a tight fist. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jack,” she smiled, suddenly aware of Reinhardt and the older woman standing beside them, watching and listening, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he looked at her knee, where the blood soaked her jeans, and she could see the creases on his forehead deepening as he frowned.

He leaned forward and collected her in his arms. Julie’s eyes widened as he stood up, holding her up like she weighed nothing.

“Wait, Torbjörn and Brigitte are still inside this thing,” she pointed at the deactivated Omnic.

“We need to tend to that cut,” he answered calmly but firmly, and there was no disobeying his tone.

“Vould you tell me who you are?” Reinhardt put himself in his path, “zis girl is under my protection!”

Julie smiled at the Crusader.

“It’s alright, Reinhardt. It’s Jack. Jack Morrison.”

She could feel the soldier tense up, his grip on her shoulder and thigh became borderline painful. Julie looked into the visor, and she could see the outlines of his face through the tinted glass.

“Jack? But…”

The woman beside Reinhardt smiled at him, wrinkles gathering in the corners of her eyes, making them look warm.

“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, we were looking for you and Torbjörn. It’s time to get the old squad back together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a longer chapter than usual, but things should be picking up the pace now. Let me know what you think!


	12. Whirlpool

He didn't expect much from the city of Boklovo. Ravaged landscape was all too familiar to him. He went through the furnace of the first Omnic Crisis, he had seen so, so much worse.

Although getting used to the smell of burning bodies is not a good sign.

He was a bit surprised seeing the giant Omnic collapse as soon as they got close. Ana's prediction was correct, Torbjörn would be the one working on taking the thing out. He was surprised further as he saw the giant of a man, clad in the familiar armor, heard his familiar voice. He thought Reinhardt was in Europe.

But as he opens his mouth to greet his old friend, the world comes to a halt. Dust stops falling, heart skips a beat, sounds are blurred into white noise. It feels like even the Earth itself stopped rotating on its axis. It can't be.

But here she is.

Her checkered blue shirt is covered in dust, so is her short, slightly wavy brown hair. His gaze zeroes in on the bright red blood trickling down the side of her sharp face, and he rushes past Reinhardt forgetting everything he wanted to say.

It doesn't matter.

Within seconds he is kneeling beside her on the hot asphalt and carefully wipes the blood off her face. Those are just minor cuts, though a couple of them still have sharp bits of glass sticking out, she will be fine. Head wounds always bleed a lot.

He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“I'm sorry, Jack,” she whispers. He shakes his head. A sad smile tugs at his lips.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he replies. His gaze falls down at the large cut running over her knee and down her shin. Blood oozes through, soaking her torn jeans. He frowns. That one is not good at all.

She probably is still too full of adrenaline to feel the pain, but she will soon. And so he picks her up and is about to leave - somewhere, anywhere. They have a lot to talk about.

But Reinhardt puts himself in his way and declares that Julie is his to protect. He wants to tell him to stand down but she beats him to it.

He freezes up when she says his name. His full name.

She knows.

But how? What happened? Did she lie to him the first time or did she figure it out on her own?

His mind in racing, but a quiet hiss of pain makes him snap out of it. He then notices that he has tightened his grip on her too much. Ana is eyeing the girl with quite a bit of curiosity. Her only eye sparks with interest and a bit of a concern when she notices the wound.

Then a smile crosses her face and she puts a hand on Reinhardt's arm - his shoulder is too high to reach.

“It's a long story. Suffice it to say we were looking for you…”

The fall of destroyer didn't go unnoticed and already there is a swarm of fighters and helicopters approaching. It will be for the best to get out of sight. He looks around, searching for cover.

“Torbjörn's workshop is nearby,” she says. Her breathing is still fast and shallow, he can feel it. “I happened to loop back while the thing was chasing us.”

“Whose idea was that?” He asks, unhappy. That was too much of a risk.

“Mine,” her smile is sheepish and he raises an eyebrow. She risked her life to save this city, voluntarily. She may not be under Talon’s influence after all.

She points the way, and he follows. He kicks open the door into a makeshift workshop and immediately stumbles over some piece of metal forgotten on the floor. Nearly losing his balance, he barely catches himself. The girl in his arms makes an undignified squeak, grasps onto him tighter and blushes.

The sound makes him chuckle and her blush deepens. He sits her down on a table, moving away wrenches and bolts to free up some space.

“Second time I have to patch you up,” he murmurs, sitting back on his haunches to inspect the leg wound, “you gotta be more careful.”

“What can I say,” her large amber eyes watch his every move intently, “I had to do what I had to do.”

“Aren't we all.”

His hands aren't idle all the time they are talking. He is busy cutting off already ruined part of the jeans to expose the wound. The cut is more or less clean, clearly made by some sharp edge. He cleans it anyway, can never be too careful. He staples it shut to help it heal and wraps her leg in bandages. Not too tight so she would still be able to move around.

If he had to guess, they moved around a lot, with Reinhardt being charged with supporting Overwatch recall.

His hand lingers on her thigh and her breath picks up a bit again.

With the immediate concerns out of the way, there is something he needs to ask her, though. His palm slides down and away from her thigh and rests on the table instead. He can't help but notice a flicker of disappointment in her big eyes. Or was it just a trick of his overworked mind?

“How did you know my name,” he asks quietly, “how did you know who I am?”

“Connected the dots,” she shrugged, “you know, Reinhardt kept photos of Overwatch members in his van. Looking at them I noticed… quite a bit of similarity.”

“You'd be the only one,” he sighs, “except for Ana, that is. Everyone else has just… accepted that I'm dead.”

“I couldn't believe it at first. Thought I was a bit delusional. Your death was common knowledge even for someone like me. But… somehow I knew I was right.” She tapped on the side of her head, “I knew you were… connected to what was happening.”

So she _is_ being influenced by Talon… but she has enough strength to fight it off. For now, at least. He needs to find a solution for this before it's too late.

He would hate to see her turned to the other side. More than anything.

“But I am right, am I not?” She smiles, her lips are chapped, but he can't look away. “You are Jack Morrison. That's why you were so concerned about me knowing who you are.”

He pauses for a moment, then nods. Her hands go up to his face, and this time, he doesn't stop her. She unclasps the mask and pulls it off his face. For the first time he looks in her eyes directly, and it's a dizzying sight. Her pupils expand as he watches, and the bright iris is pushed back against the captivating pools of darkness.

His eyes flick to the side of her face. The fresh cuts had stopped bleeding, but they need to be cleaned up too. There is a small shard of glass still stuck in one of them. He takes his glove off and carefully pulls it out with his fingernails.

Only then does he realize the action made him tilt his face close to her. So close he can feel her warm breath on his lips. Her eyes are wide and trusting. There is fear too, but it's a different kind. The one before a leap of faith.

As his face inches even closer, her eyes flutter close and he does the same. The first touch is feather light, cautious, barely there.

“Zere he is! How is ze leg?”

He leaps back and turns, his heart thumping so hard it's all he can to hear. He is bitter and about to snap at Reinhardt to get the hell out, but behind his old friend's massive form there are others. With any luck, Reinhardt's back was blocking the view.

“She's fine,” he says slowly, picking up his mask from the table, “I took care of the wound.”

“Well let me see,” Ana squeezes in between Reinhardt and the wall, and the latter realizes he is blocking the passage. The giant steps to the side, letting in Torbjörn and a girl he vaguely remembers as one of the mechanics that helped to keep Reinhardt's armor in shape.

Ana pushes him to the side, but there is a knowing smile on her lips when she meets his eyes for a brief second. He curses under his breath. Nothing gets past her.

He fixes the mask back on. The moment is gone, and Julie refuses to meet his gaze, looking down at her wound. Ana clicks her tongue, inspecting his handiwork and shakes her head.

“This will have to do for now. But…”

She takes out one of her darts and injects it a little above the cut. “This should help a bit.”

“Thanks,” Julie meets Ana’s eyes for a split second, blushes and looks to the side. Damn it, he whispers again. She knows that Ana knows.

 _Women_. They always seem to know.

 

It's night, and the wind is howling across the bare planes. The battle is over, the destroyer is toppled. Rescue efforts are underway. The mayor of the city is so overjoyed he doesn't care if their bunch are all technically wanted criminals. He lets them stay in one of the city's intact buildings while they recuperate and prepare to depart.

Reinhardt and Brigitte are somewhere in the ruins, helping people. Hauling rubble, being good heroes.

Part of him wants to join them.

There are light steps approaching him from behind. He tenses up a bit, he is sitting on the roof’s edge, one push and he falls down five stories. But looking over his shoulder he sees the glowing triangular sights. Ana.

He ignores the pang of disappointment. He hoped to see someone else.

She sits down beside him and lets her feet dangle from the side of the roof. Her mask comes off with a quiet click and Ana stares at it in silence.

“What is it, Ana,” he says calmly.

“Thought you might want to know the girl left with Torbjörn to help the wounded. I'm going to join her soon. You should too. There are too many injured and not enough help.”

“How is her own wound?”

“She’ll live,” she is smiling, he can tell by her voice. “So Jack.”

He doesn't respond, merely turns his head towards her. Ana is definitely amused.

“She is half your age.”

“Not exactly.”

“You know what I mean. You are old enough to be her father.”

“You think I don't know that?” He is annoyed. Ana's smile grows wider.

“Well, with all fairness you are looking pretty good for a man of your years, Jack. All those enhancements are coming pretty handy, aren't they?”

“Don't want to talk about that. A part of my life I'd rather forget. Too many needles. Too much pain.”

“Fair enough.” Her smile wanes. “You didn't know she was alive?”

“I thought she died in the explosion. Some crazy junkers blew up the hospital building she was in. I…” he stutters and falls silent. What he felt when he saw Julie was hard to describe and he was never good at talking about his feelings. He was always the bottle-em-up type.

Probably why Ana chose Gabriel in the first place.

But that's old history now.

He feels her hand, patting him on the back reassuringly. “Don't you hesitate now. This is our last war… and last chance, at everything. There will be no other one. Go get her, Jack.”

“I don't know if she wants a broken old man like me.”

Ana chuckles and gets up with a quiet groan. He can hear her joints clicking.

“Oh believe me. I saw the way she looks at you.”

He raises his eyebrow, even though she probably can't see it behind the mask. “Oh?”

Ana laughs, the hearty sound made cold and distant by her mask's speakers. “Don't tell me you didn't notice. Ah, well. You coming?”

He is the only one left here. He can stare at the night sky or he can actually be helpful to all the displaced and injured. He gets up and shakes the dust off his pants.

“Fine. I'll help.”

He didn't say that it was not for the people. He was gravitating towards older Oxton no matter what he did. Like she was the magnet and he was the compass needle. He still felt the short brush of her lips on his. He wanted to taste them for real this time.

How did she look at him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the Reinhardtblock. :D


	13. Flood

“Here you go,” fresh bandage was wrapped snuggly around the woman's arm. She smiled at Julie and responded in her native language. The meaning was clear, however. The gratitude was tangible in her voice.

Julie smiled back.

“There is no end to this,” she heard Brigitte groan behind her back, “I'm so tired.”

“You should get some rest, then,” Julie responded, turning towards the mechanic. “I'll take care of the people.”

“How is your leg doing, though?” Brigitte sounded genuinely concerned, but Julie looked away. She could deal with a bit of pain.

“I'm fine.”

“Alright then… it probably is a good idea. Don't forget we're leaving early. We got a new van from the mayor since the old one is beyond repair.”

“Mhm.”

“Don't stay up too late.”

“Yes, mum,” chuckled Julie, rolling her eyes. Brigitte laughed too.

“I'm serious, though.” She was already heading out towards their temporary camp. “You need rest too.”

Julie watched her leave and sighed. She didn't want to go back… not yet. She wanted to wait until everyone else has gone to sleep. She didn't want to run into Jack.

He almost kissed her. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. What were they doing… what was she thinking?

There was no denying that she wanted him. She was attracted to him from the very beginning. When he finally let her remove the mask, she saw his face for the first time. Julie knew he was an older man, but even though his face was lined and his hair was silver his eyes were still a staggering shade of blue, piercing her very soul.

He was _fit_. Her breath hitched just thinking about him.

But at the same time she felt… _wrong_. She felt guilty for having those feelings. For abandoning her husband… even though no miracle could bring him back. He was shot dead by Widowmaker, not even six months ago.

And she was already fancying another man. What kind of horrible person was she? Her chest felt very tight.

“Those gauze and bandages,” a familiar female voice approached her from behind making Julie jump, “such a sad sight. Though I can't say I actually wept over them before.”

Ana Amari was smiling at her, but there was a spark of mischief in her amber eye. Julie quickly wiped a stray tear from her cheek with a sleeve.

“I… uh.”

“I saw nothing,” Ana winked, and Julie smiled back at the older woman awkwardly.

“Sorry,” mumbled Julie, “did you need anything?”

She had the feeling that Ana knew. Knew about the weird… _thing_ happening between her and Jack.

“I really should get back to fixing people up…” she tried to get past Ana but then she noticed the familiar fit silhouette in a bit of a distance, between the rows of makeshift tents. Red sights glowed in the darkness but he wasn't actually looking in her direction. Julie quickly retreated back into the tent.

Ana watched her intensely.

“Is something wrong?” She asked kindly. Her gaze was so _knowing_.

“No! Sorry... Nothing is wrong. I, um. I just remembered I have other stuff I needed to take care of. I'll be right back.”

She quickly stepped out of the opposite exit and ran. As fast and far away as she could.

Julie needed time. Desperately. She wasn't ready… she couldn't bring herself to face him again just yet. It felt wrong… yet wasn't it her goal? To find him? To tell him… to see him again.

Conflicted feelings made her head spin. Actually, it started transforming into a skull-splitting pain… something… something was off.

When a rough shove came from the side she couldn't keep her balance. Julie tumbled down on the ground, scratching her skin on the asphalt and hissed in pain, both in her head and in her arm.

A young man was pointing a knife at her. He barked something out, some word she didn’t know.

“What do you want?” Julie backed off on her elbows only to realize that in her hurry to get away she strayed pretty far away from the refugee camp. Nothing was around. No lights, no sounds, only ruined buildings.

“Money?” He asked with an accent that was scratching her ears like a sandpaper. “Money!”

“I don't have any…” pleaded Julie, raising her hands, “please, please just let me go! I'm trying to help people!”

“Money!” Demanded the man, swinging at her with his knife. Julie gasped, trying to crawl back. Her head was ringing with pain.

Tip of the knife got her on the left cheekbone and she shrieked. Warm blood rushed down the side of her face.

She blinked.

And when she opened her eyes again, she was standing, and the blood was dripping down from her fingertips, but somehow she knew it wasn't hers.

It was the man's… the boy’s. Now that he was down on the ground, moonlight fell on his face. His features were so youthful. No more anger, just surprise. His glassy eyes looked at the night sky that was full of stars.

They didn't move. He didn't move. In fact, he wasn't breathing.

Julie realized she was holding his knife and let go with a gasp of horror. The blade dinged against the cracked asphalt, landing into a quickly expanding pool of blood. There was _so much_ blood.

“No… oh no…”

She felt sick. She… she _killed_ this boy. She didn't remember. Her body acted on its own. She felt like a passenger in her own skin. Grasping onto a wall for support, she tried to stabilize her breathing.

The air smelled metallic.

She needed to get out of here. It was a mistake to leave with Reinhardt and Brigitte. It was a mistake to seek Jack out...

It was so dark in the ruins. The power lines have been destroyed along with so much else. She stumbled over a small piece of rubble and didn't even had the will or the strength to get up. Bitter tears overflowed her eyes and trickled down her face in warm salty streams.

When she heard steps approaching in the ringing silence of the night she tried to scramble up on her feet. But she felt so sluggish. So tired. Her leg responded in pain, too. Ana warned her - no excessive movement with those staples on. Not that she could stop her dark self from doing anything.

“Julie…”

 _Jack_. Was this the first time he actually said her name?

“No, stay back,” she sobbed. “Stay back… please. I don't know if I can control it.”

His steps approached still. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulled her off the ground. She didn't have the will to resist. And deep down, she wanted to be held.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. His gloved hand traced a fresh cut on her cheekbone. Julie winced and tried to turn away.

“How did you find me?”

“Ana pointed me in the general direction. I stumbled over the corpse on the way and followed the blood trail…” his hand came under her chin and turned her face towards him. “Did he hurt you?”

“No… yes? I can’t remember. I… I blacked out. I’m so sorry…”

Her hands were shaking and she tightened them into fists. Drying blood made them sticky, causing even more revulsion in her. There was no way she would ever forget this sensation and there is no soap in the entire world to wash this feeling off her hands.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered again and again, and tears flooded her face once more, “I’m sorry…”

She wasn’t even sure what she was apologizing for. To whom and why? The words couldn’t make it better. The words couldn’t bring that boy back. The words couldn’t wash the blood off her hands.

“Shh… it’s going to be alright,” Jack lowered them down to the ground. The asphalt was radiating the heat stored during the day. Julie buried her face in the crook of his neck and let go.

Nobody would be phased by another person crying their heart out in the night. So many dead and injured, what is one more?

But the boy was someone’s son. He was someone’s friend. He was a living, breathing person, and now he was gone because of her.

Jack was holding her in silence, his arms around her the only steady anchor in this crazy, wrong world. Eventually, she had no tears left in her. She pulled away from Jack, but he didn’t let go.

“Why were you running away?” he asked, his voice so deep and calm.

“I can’t… I can’t.” She took in another sharp breath, but her eyes were all out of tears. “I…”

A soft click made her look up, and his lips pressed to hers, cutting off her stuttering. Their kiss was desperate and sloppy, his rough stubble was scratching her face, but it made her head spin and her heart jump up to her throat. They pulled away from each other, gasping for breath.

It didn’t make the world feel any less broken, it didn’t make her forget everything that just happened. It didn’t make her feel any less of a horrible person. Maybe even more so.

But it did… change _something_.

It had taken her a moment and another dizzying kiss to figure it out.

She wasn’t alone anymore. _They_ weren’t alone anymore.

It was as simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cheer* snogging time!
> 
> Please leave a comment, let me know what you think! It means a lot for me to read them.


	14. Ripple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References cinematic trailer.

It’s a weird feeling.

It seems like an eternity has passed since the last time he kissed anyone. Last six years has been harrowing, to say at least. Always moving, never staying for long. Hounding, searching, trying to piece the puzzle together. He never thought he would ever get another chance. He gave up on the idea of white picket fence years and years ago.

It will not happen. Not to him.

Never had anyone fallen asleep in his arms, ever. He finds it more and more uncomfortable as the time passes, but he stubbornly refuses to move or change position. He doesn’t want to wake her.

She took a life. The first time is hard for everyone. To step over that threshold. To break that tenet, inscribed into every person from the moment they are old enough to understand what life and death are.

_Thou shalt not kill._

Sometimes, it can’t be avoided. And, some people just need killing...

His mind can’t help it but go back to the moment everything changed. She tasted salty from tears, her lips were chapped by the wind. His visor fell to the ground with a quiet clatter, forgotten immediately. Her arms snaked their way around him, leaving red trails on the jacket’s leather. So small. So vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than protect her. Help her. Take the pain away.

As the kiss deepened, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore. Tearing the gloves off, he ran his hands along her back, feeling the warmth of her body. His thumb caressed the sliver of bare skin that opened when her shirt raked up a bit. The small touch made her respond in a shiver.

When she pulled off, gasping for breath, her eyes were dark again. He found himself in trouble of controlling his own breathing too. And suddenly it felt like a tight knot has loosened up in his chest. He felt… _light_.

The crushing loneliness of the past decade… no, _decades_ \- was lifted.

He never knew how lonely he was until he finally wasn’t.

As the realization hit him, Julie leaned forward, kissing him back. He lost all track of time, and all he could tell was that he never wanted to stop.

 

He carried her to the makeshift camp their little ragtag alliance had hastily thrown together in one of the more or less intact buildings. Everyone else was deep asleep, the ever vigilant turret their only guard.

One of the rooms was suitable enough. Their companions had already scavenged everything that could have been used as a padding or a mattress. Well, almost everything. He tears down an old wall rug, just to have something in between them and the cold floor.

He helps her down. One of the staples came off from her leg, and layers of gauze and bandages are stained with dark spots. He fixes that problem and reapplies the fresh bandage. Putting down a biotic emitter next to her, he stands up.

Or tries to. Her hand catches the hem of his jacket.

“Wait. Please, don’t go…”

Her eyes are still red and raw from all the tears, but he can also see that her lips are swollen from their passionate makeout session. That makes him smile behind his mask. She is _beautiful_.

He nods silently and sits down beside her, leaning back onto the wall. She settles down next to him and shivers when her back touches the wall. Thin wallpaper does nothing to stop the cold concrete.

He shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around her. Without thinking, as if he’d done it a thousand times before - when in reality it had never been done once - he rests his arm on her shoulder.

Just as naturally, Julie leans into his side, pulling her good leg closer and resting her head on his shoulder. Within minutes, her breathing slows down.

The clock in his visor shows that it’s been a couple of hours since. His arm feels numb, and he knows that thousands of needles are waiting to pierce every nerve in his hand as soon as she will shift or move away.

A small price to pay.

Never had anyone fallen asleep in his arms. Never had he fallen asleep in someones arms, either. His eyelids are getting heavier by the minute. But he doesn't want it to stop, he doesn't want it to end. But soon enough he can't resist anymore. The warmth of her body cradled against his lulls him. He told himself that he will just rest his eyes. Just for a bit.

 

The van shakes and jumps on the uneven road. It didn't seem like Kurjikstan’s government was eager to pave the holes even before the destroyer attacked. With so much destruction in its capital city, though, the roads would be the least of their concerns.

From what Torbjörn told them, the Swede had demolished most of the sensitive equipment. That the people scavenging the giant Omnic wouldn't be able to sell the damn thing off into the wrong hands. There is still plenty of scrap there… but not the one that would create more destroyers.

However, this was the only good news of the day. He had way bigger problems right now.

“... and then he looks at us and says: “Oops.””

Torbjörn, Brigitte and Reinhardt and even Julie all roar with laughter. He groans and rubs his forehead. This is a one terrible road trip. Reminds him of the trips his family took, years ago, when he was still a boy. His father driving and road raging, his siblings crying, his mother at her wits end.

But this is even worse.

“And then,” Ana’s eye sparks with mischief, and he rolls his eyes in response. He knows the next part and it doesn’t make it any better, “Jack here says: “Well played, Gabe. Well played…” and then knocks the other table over. Then the two of them look at each other and Gabriel throws the last pie at him.”

Ana makes a pistol gun and smirks. “Puff. Headshot.”

“Very funny,” he mutters, crossing his arms as a new wave of laughter follows.

“So that was my daughter's eighth birthday. And we never served pies in the headquarters again. _Ever_.”

“I vas stationed at Gibraltar,” sighs Reinhardt, “too bad I missed that brawl.”

“Fareeha had a poster of you when she was little,” Ana smiles, her gaze softening. He looks down.

That letter... She probably doesn't expect to return from this. It was her goodbye to her only daughter.

“Where is her father now?” Asks Julie quietly, when the laughter dies down. He can't help but tense up, and he sees the Ana does the same thing. Their eyes meet for a brief second before she looks back at Julie.

“He is gone,” Ana answers calmly, but her voice wavers just a bit, betraying her. “Gabriel is… no more.”

Which is not exactly a lie. But at the same time, he can't help but wonder.

_They left you to die. They left me to suffer._

The face of a man he once called his friend, distorted into a mess of endlessly living and dying matter, is right there, in his mind's eye.

And he caused this. There were, of course, a lot of things in play, snowballed over the years into a critical mass. But it was his fault that caused the domino effect, and no one else's. Gabriel was paying the price that wasn't his to pay.

“I'm so sorry,” says Julie and Ana answers with a sad smile.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

He stays silent.

“Why all the doom and gloom,” Brigitte's voice chases away ghosts of the past, if only temporarily. “I fixed the radio! Let's see what was happening in the world while we were fighting the destroyer.”

It takes another vigorous punch from the girl to get the radio to come alive, and music starts coming through. His arm finds its way around Julie's shoulders, but this time instead of leaning in she stiffens. As if caught off guard. He raises his eyebrow.

She looks uncomfortable to say at least. Perhaps she is worried what the others might think. He isn't.

But maybe it's not that. _You are old enough to be her father_ , repeats his consciousness in Ana's voice. Maybe she is not so keen on that. And it’s not like a life of an exile and vigilante was kind to him either. He deliberates for a few more seconds and then removes his hand from her shoulders. She looks down but her posture relaxes a bit.

He is thankful for the mask, covering his features. His mouth tightens in a thin line and he can't quench the bitterness rising in him.

Perhaps she regrets kissing him in the moment of weakness. The knot in his chest tightens once more, but this time, he is hyper aware of that feeling.

It feels like gnawing emptiness in the middle of his ribcage.

“... in other news, Jack Morrison’s Memorial Museum in Arizona, United States, was under attack. Witnesses claim a pair of attackers were after the famous gauntlet of Doomfist. Security camera footage caught a known terrorist Reaper along with an unidentified woman, trying to steal the weapon. There also have been reported sightings of two former Overwatch agents, known as Winston and Tracer. Both are currently wanted for violating the Petras Act…”

“Lena?!” Julie dives forward into the front seat and turns the sound up. Brigitte squeaks as Julie elbows her way into her space.

“Hey! Hello! I’m kind of driving here!”

“Shh!”

“... attackers have failed to acquire the gauntlet thanks to the quick actions of the former Overwatch members. Both parties have disappeared in an unknown direction. Meanwhile, Summer Games will still continue on schedule despite the rising anti-Omnic sentiments…”

“Oh no, go back! Bollocks...”

“You go back!” Brigitte pushed Julie on the forehead with a base of her palm while trying to keep the van straight.

“Oi!”

Yep, definitely a family road trip.

“We gotta get to Lena,” Julie fell back on her seat and looked at him and Ana. “Please…”

“Reaper was there too. And an unidentified woman…” he muses thoughtfully.

“Widowmaker. Must be,” says Ana, frowning. He nods. Julie's hands clench into tight fists, shaking ever so slightly.

“That would be a good place as any to start. But we are on the wrong side of the ocean,” notes Torbjörn.

“Then let's figure out how to hitch a ride.”


	15. Mist

“Any chance you guys have a private jet stashed somewhere?”

Jack chuckled, sending a light shiver along her spine. His voice was so deep and smoky. Her mind couldn't help but flash back to the night before.

To the feeling of his lips on hers.

“Unfortunately, pretty much anything worth taking was confiscated...”

“Funny you should ask,” interrupted Torbjörn, running his fingers through the forked beard, “because there was an experimental dropship that went missing during the Overwatch dismemberment years, along with so much else. I was on my way tracking it down, but then the Omnic situation happened.”

“Wait… You're talking about Project Manticore?” Jack sounded surprised.

“Aye,” Torbjörn smiled, nodding, “stealth dropship for rapid troop deployment, capable of reaching any point on the globe without refueling. It could have helped so much…”

“Instead it's being used by Talon,” Jack said, his voice taut with suppressed anger.

“Actually, no. After Overwatch fell apart, Helix corporation got a hold of as much of the assets as they could… by any means necessary. The advancements they've made reverse engineering our prototypes made them extremely rich. New types of rockets, Raptora suits, security bots… to name a few.”

“They are a shady bunch,” muttered Jack, “it got me wondering a while ago, you know. All the operations Talon conducts… where do they get the funding?”

“There might be a lot we still don't know,” said Ana softly. “Helix does a lot of good too.”

“Depending on who you ask.”

“The Helix storage facility where the Manticore is kept is located in Prague. After that, we can ditch the van and fly in style.”

“We are still talking about theft…” said Julie cautiously.

“From the thieves,” responded Jack firmly, and Torbjörn nodded. She bit her lip and stayed silent. Jack seemed to notice her distress. His hand touched her shoulder gently. “It's the only way we can feasibility get over the ocean. One of us or two of us could have maybe used fake IDs or something but someone may recognize this group. And after the recall, the border control would be on the lookout for us. I'm sorry.”

“I… I try to understand,” she said quietly.

The world has gone mad. Everything felt wrong. Everything _was_ wrong.

“Can't be something you're used to. I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

His voice was low and calm, his hand still resting on her shoulder. This time, he didn't try to put it around her and she was grateful for that.

“No. Not at all… but it's not your fault. I was dragged in years ago when Lena first joined the Slipstream.”

“Yeah… right. The Slipstream program. I remember now. I saw you there… you were visiting her almost every day.”

Julie nodded. “Sometimes she was gone, sometimes she wouldn't remember what she said five minutes ago. Sometimes she would try to touch me and I would feel nothing. Sometimes she would cry and apologize for things that didn't happen. It wasn't a good time.”

Jack nodded. Julie smiled weakly in response.

“What were you doing before all this?” He asked.

“I was a history teacher in senior school,” she answered shyly. “I’m awfully boring, I'm afraid.”

“Teaching the new generation, making sure that history doesn't repeat itself is an important job,” she couldn't see his face behind the mask, but his voice changed in a way that she knew he was smiling.

He sounded… _warm_. Like a ray of sunshine touching her face.

Her chest responded in a tight feeling. She knew it well. For the last few months it was tainted with grief and pain, but this… this was different. Pure. New. Sharp.

 _Longing_.

She yearned to touch him again. Her palm rested on top of his gloved hand. Julie looked into the red sights. Sitting side by side, she could see through them, she could see his eyes. She knew they were blue like the mid-summer sky, even though they were colored red by the visor.

It was almost like she-

“Umm, guys… we got a problem.”

 

“Border control. What the hell… they weren't here three days ago!” Jack muttered angrily, cautiously peeking out.

“With the Omnic attack, I imagine there is a whole bunch of refugees trying to get into Europe. They had to respond.”

“This is too quick. Things like that come from the top down, it takes some time! Not three days. It's like they… expected this. Like they knew…”

“Nonsense,” laughed Ana, “it happens sometimes. Sometimes you don't have the best luck. And I'd think you'd be happy with the efficiency they display.”

“Efficiency is my middle name,” he said dryly, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “But this is too convenient.”

“Your tinfoil hat is askew, better fix it now, quickly!” retorted Torbjörn with a hearty chuckle, “Relax. We will get by just fine. We just need a person who can talk us through those people.”

“Someone not directly affiliated with Overwatch,” chided in Ana, “preferably also not considered dead by everyone…”

Julie responded with a flat stare.

“... also not having a bounty on that person's head helps. Gosh, just where would we find someone like that?”

 

The window rolled down, and she felt a warm breath of the wind on her face. It smelled like dust, gasoline, and fried meat.

“Good day, officer,” she tried to keep it calm, but her heart was hammering in her chest. Most of the weapons were stashed in the back, along with the pieces of Reinhardt’s armor, and if they even try to peek inside, she was toast.

And not just that, everyone was hiding in the back as well. Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she was almost afraid the officer would be able to hear it. She listened to any noise that could give them away. Her foot twitched on the gas pedal, ready to press it into the floor at any moment.

“Good day, miss…” the soldier scanned her biometric chip, embedded into her left hand. She was kind of surprised Talon didn’t mess with it when they captured her. “... Oxton.”

His eyes met hers and Julie did her best not to look dodgy.

“You're a British citizen…” mused soldier, scrolling through his tablet.

“That is correct.” Her palms on the wheel got sweaty and she gripped it a bit tighter.

“Business or pleasure?”

“Neither. Just passing through. My flight got canceled and I was stranded during the Omnic attack.”

Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat hoped the man would think it's from emotions. Not from a lie.

“I see. Do you carry any weapons? Trade goods?”

“No, sir. I just want to go home. The attack was… awful.”

He looked at his tablet and nodded.

“I understand.”

He fiddled with his holopad a bit more. A bead of sweat tickled the back of her neck and she quickly wiped it with a sleeve. The soldier hummed to himself and looked her in the face again.

Julie forced another awkward smile.

“You’re clear.”

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief.

“Move along.”

He didn't need to say that twice. She hit the gas and drove through, feeling lighter and more confident.

“Good job,” Ana gracefully climbed on the passenger seat, smiling. “He was busier looking at you than at the papers.”

“Huh? I…” She really didn't know what to say. “Thank you?”

“I remember the days when I too could smile at a man and get away with almost anything,” she laughed.

Julie shrugged awkwardly in return.

“I can take the wheel for a bit if you need a rest.”

“I'm fine, really.”

“You still need to heal,” Ana's tone was commanding and strong. Julie had no problems imagining her beside Jack, leading the Overwatch. There was something in them. Power.

Authority.

“Besides,” the older woman's voice lowered and her smile grew wider, “it couldn't have been comfortable sleeping on Jack's shoulder.”

Julie knew that her cheeks flared. She could feel them pulsing with embarrassed heat. Ana laughed, shaking her head. She peeked behind her shoulder where the rest of their team were trying to arrange themselves back into the seats.

“It's alright. I'm glad he met you. He deserves some love…”

Love.

Love…

Her heart stung and her vision got blurry. She blinked rapidly, chasing away the unwelcome tears.

Love.

She wasn't ready to love again. Not after… not after what happened. Too soon. Too fresh.

_The wind smells of north and snow and pine. The rare snowflakes swirl around. The weather is crisp, amazingly so. Only a few clouds in the sky. She breathes in the cold air and lets out a puff of white steam._

_“Just one more place to go to, I promise.”_

_“Alright, alright,” his smile is warm and bright, “who's that one for?”_

_“It's so hard to get presents for Lena. I can never get it right… and I mean, what would you get for her?’_

_“I really don't know. She's… a special one.”_

_“I'm thinking a pair of trainers would do nicely. She always wears those horrible rubber abominations.”_

_“Those are called 'crocks’”_

_“Right.”_

_He adjusts his grip on the colorful plastic bags._

_“Are you sure she will show up for this year's dinner? Ever since the Overwatch was shut down she's been out and about.”_

_“I hope so,” a white puff of steam reveals her quiet sigh, “but if she does show up and I have nothing for her I'd feel awful.”_

_“Fair enough, I suppose…”_

_Her hand is in his as they weave their way through the crowd. It's chilly, but neither of them is wearing gloves._

_“You sure we didn't forget anyone else?”_

_“I'm sure we'll remember someone the day before Christmas and it'd be awkward.”_

_He laughs, his hazel eyes sparkle in the warm afternoon light._

_“I'm sure of it.”_

_He looks around, taking in the beautiful weather. He looks at her and his eyes are warm and loving. Somehow he is able to smile with his eyes alone and it is warming her from inside. She smiles back._

_His eyes go back to the clear skies but something catches his attention. His gaze darts towards something. Something behind her, and in an instant all warmth is gone. She doesn't even have time to open her mouth._

_“That’s… watch it!!”_

_He pulls her by the hand with force, spinning her unpredictably, hurling her to the ground._

_A single gunshot splits the cold air, and it's deafening, but the moment of silence that followed it is even more so._

_Then the crowd erupts in screams and shrieks, but she can't see. She can't hear. She can't cry. She can't even scream. She can't feel anything but hot blood trickling down her face, but it's not hers._

_She can't move. She can't… she can't believe._

_Her eyes look where he looked the moment before the shot and she meets another pair for eyes. Cold._

_So_ cold _._

_And in an instant, the woman is gone. Like a ghost. Like she was never there._

_And she is left alone amidst the ashes of her world._

Love. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tight it hurt.

She wasn't ready. Perhaps last night was a mistake. She couldn't bring herself to go through it all again.

“He does,” she answered quietly.

_But I don't think I can give him what he wants._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going away for so long. Had to take a bit of a break from writing, but I'm back :3


	16. Flurry

The moon is full tonight. Too bad, he'd rather have a better cover… but it will have to do.

Silvery light gleams off the sniper rifle in Ana's hands. She motions him to move and so he does, quickly closing the open area and crouching beside the grated fence.

He feels it as he approaches, the current in the metal. He can feel it with his skin, with his hair. Probably not going to kill him, but stun him for sure.

He's not eager to try and find out.

This place ain't no warehouse. It's a fortress. Helix keeps their possessions locked up tight. Makes him wonder what else could be inside. What else can they be hiding from curious eyes.

His earpiece comes alive. “Disrupting the power in three…”

Torbjörn and Brigitte went ahead to a nearby substation to shut off the power. Torbjörn guessed that the facility itself would have its own power sources, but the fence? The fence was probably vulnerable.

“Two…”

Time to find out. He takes a deep breath.

“One.”

He can feel the current washing away. He doesn't waste a second, springing up the fence. Pulling himself up he swung over the metal grid and jumped down. No time to waste.

As soon as his toes hit the ground he rolls forward, letting inertia to dissipate behind him. His bones respond in dull pain, but it has become so familiar over the years he hardly pays it any attention.

He closes his eyes for a brief second, listening. No alarm. No voices. No lights. So far he wasn't noticed… probably.

They may be luring him deeper in.

He makes his way to the back gates. That's the thing with most of them, they require all sorts of things to get in from the outside. From the inside, it's just one push of a button, and the door opens.

Ana has already made her way there, and so did heavily panting Brigitte. But Julie is also here, much to his surprise. He frowns.

This is not a good place for a civilian. Stealth op, such as it is, requires more than just desire to help. He was hesitant to even let Brigitte join.

“Get back to the van,” he says, his voice lowering into a snarl. She winces.

“I… I can help…”

“No. You need to get out of here. Now.”

“Hush, Jack,” not now, Ana, he pleads in his mind. Not now. Should this go wrong, he'll be able to escape. She'll be able to escape. Even Brigitte would be able to fend for herself.

But not her.

“More eyes and ears would not hurt us. She can stay quiet. Let's go.”

“This is a bad idea,” he mutters, turning away. He would be the one saying 'I told you so’... though this time it would not be as satisfying.

Not if Julie gets hurt. Again.

Over the past few days, her leg has healed enough not to bother her. She was also… avoiding him. Not quite literally, since there was only limited space inside the van.

But there was an invisible wall between him and her. He could feel it… and it drove him mad.

She tried to distance herself from him. Why? The obvious answer is that the night in Boklovo was a fluke. A mistake. She gave in during a moment of weakness and really wanted nothing to do with him.

He hated it. Hated being… a tool. A thing to use. A way to forget.

Hated that he had the useless feelings that were obviously not mutual. Unrequired.

The story of his damn life.

 

“All clear,” he hears from his earpiece. Too clear he notes, and Ana seems to agree, “where the hell is everyone?”

“I don’t like this.”

“Not much choice here,” she says and she is right as always. They need the Manticore.

He walks down the shadowy corridor, checking around every corner. Nothing. Not a soul. The warning bells in his head are ringing nonstop. Something is _wrong_.

“The hangar should be just over to the left. Past the coded door.”

“Can you deal with that?” He is inspecting the door already, crouching down to take a look at the mechanism, “seems a bit above my paygrade.”

“One moment,” Brigitte chimes in, and he hears a series of clicks on the other side. The door in front of him hissed and slid open.

He can see the outline of the ship clearly. Seems intact, but who knows what is inside. He crosses the hangar hastily, and in the vast emptiness of the place, the echo of even his light footsteps thrashes inside the metal walls, almost deafening to his ears.

“We almost thought you wouldn’t make it. I guess our friend was right.”

He _knew_ it.

Powerful lights suddenly turn on, blinding him for a second. Would have been a lot worse without the protection of his visor. Blinking away dark shadows from his eyes, he looks up.

A tall man with cruel, sharp face looks down at him with a grin. His right hand is replaced with a bionic prosthetic up to the elbow. Not the one he recognizes, however. It looks sleek and new. Advanced. Glowing rods are embedded in the joints, reminds him of someone else he once knew. But where would anyone get the designs for that? Shimada kid was a prototype…

But there is no time to contemplate this. There are other people with him on the second floor, their guns pointing right at him.

“Doomfist.”

“Morrison. We meet again.”

His tone is curt, as always, his eyes are colder than steel. Doomfist the Scourge, a fallen hero.

A fallen hero just as he himself is.

“I see you know who I am.”

“Why, of course. Your old friend Reaper told me. What would the world say when we reveal that the greatest hero in the history of humanity had lied to the planet? That he is hiding his identity, he is turned terrorist? Mayhaps even connected to that terrible terrible Talon organization?...”

He trailed off, a smile never leaving his thin lips.

“The world would be so disappointed. Who knows, maybe that will be enough to topple it. The structure seems very unstable already. You can be that last shove, Morrison.”

All the time Doomfist ranted on, he was frantically searching for a way out. If he would be able to get inside the ship, perhaps the guns are in working order… or perhaps not. If it’s capable of movement he can try to ram the gates and break out. And it it’s not?

He will also leave Ana, Brigitte, and Julie behind by doing this. No, that’s not an option.

“I guess you really didn’t have anyone to talk to in your solitary confinement cell, huh.” He mocked, trying to buy time.

Doomfist laughed.

“I will enjoy pulling your guts out with my own hand.”

“That’s not your gauntlet,” he notes, “where did you get this one?”

“Who knows?” grinned Doomfist, flexing his metal fingers, “Talon has… resources.”

He did mention a friend. What kind of friend? Who is that? Who would have known they’d be here?

“Heads up!”

His earpiece comes alive again, this time with Julie's voice, and he is quick to drop down to the floor. A hot wave of an explosion washes over him, he can feel it with his skin.

Looking up, he can see Doomfist hanging on the edge of the platform. As he watches, the Scourge swings up with seemingly no effort, pulling his entire weight up with his metal arm.

The other men, probably Talon operatives, were mostly down on the floor. Explosion swept them off balance and they landed poorly. Some were screaming in pain, some were unconscious or maybe even dead.

“Beautiful explosion. I presume it’s the work of Torbjörn Lindholm, brilliant as eve-”

Suddenly Doomfist staggers and drops down on the floor in the middle of the sentence.

“You talk too much,” Ana wrinkled her nose, loading another sleep dart into her sidearm. He chuckles, echoing the laughter coming from Brigitte and Julie.

“Always were a good shot. Thanks.”

His voice sounds unexpectedly warm, even for himself.

“Come on now, before he wakes up. We only have a couple of minutes. Get into the ship and pray it’s in a working order.”

“Probably full of bugs.” He mutters.

“Probably." Ana shrugs. "We’ll get rid of them eventually.”

Brigitte is already working on unlocking the door.

"He's starting to move!" Julie is keeping an eye on Doomfist and he gets ready to fire as soon as his head would poke out. She is holding a pistol with two hands, also pointing at the Scourge, and so does Ana.

“Get in! Now!” Brigitte yelled over the hissing sound of the door.

Cold dry air blasts into his face, fogging his visor for a split second. He rushes up the opened ramp and up the stairs to the cockpit, nearly stumbling over a basketball left on the floor by someone. The ship looked lived in, with clutter and random items all over the place. It appeared that Talon operatives had arrived here on the Manticore.

Well, they don’t need it anymore. And Doomfist can catch his own ride.

Controls are familiar, and he flips the switches. His fingers remember even though it had been years he had piloted dropships similar to this one.

Turning the ship around, he pointed it directly at the closed hangar doors.

“Hang on! We’re going to ram!”

G-force pushed him into the cushioned seat as the Manticore thrust forward, breaking through the gates with a horrible screech.

“We need to pick up Torbjörn and Reinhardt!” said Brigitte, running up the stairs to the cockpit.

“Of course. I have not forgotten about them,” he answered, annoyed that she thought he would. “This ship can land and hover like a helicopter while having the speed of an airplane.”

“Jack,” Ana’s voice is tense, and he looks at her over the shoulder. She is running up the stairs, a holopad in hand, “this is… troubling.”

“What is it?”

“I already started going through the files they had on this ship,” quick thinking as always, he didn’t even have time to start planning the next move when she had it covered. “This… this is a dossier on Genji. His last known locations, his movements are being tracked. Specs of his prosthetics, his strengths, and weaknesses… this is very detailed.”

“What of it?”

Genji is strong enough to take care of himself, he thinks.

“In the notes, there are orders to preserve as much of his body as possible after… disassembly. They want to pull him apart and see how he works. He is a prototype after all… the only one nobody couldn’t get a hold of after the Overwatch fell apart.”

“You want to help.”

“Of course! He is our friend.”

And a very powerful ally to have. If they are to rebuild and bring this conspiracy to end… perhaps a cyborg-ninja is just what they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may thank Azurehue22 for kicking me into continuing to write.


End file.
